The Long Road Home
by PrunusPadus
Summary: When Snape inadvertently makes himself a child abductor he incurs the wrath of both Dumbledore and Voldemort. One Harry Potter isn't particularly pleased either, but a tentative alliance forms when Harry and Snape embark on the long and winding journey home. Following OoP. Snape mentors Harry.
1. The Masked Death Eater

I update very slowly and I do not own Harry Potter or any of its affiliations.

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 **1\. The Masked Death Eater**

At the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts, Harry Potter made a fateful decision.

As fateful decisions go, it was perhaps not monumental and other things were at play as well, which would influence the impact of it. Some might argue that instead, it was a _bad_ decision, but the relative quality of a decision will invariably depend on how well informed the decision maker is.

Harry wasn't well informed at all and his plan wasn't honestly all that well thought out. He didn't wake up that morning, thinking he would fly on a thestral to London with his friends, break into the Ministry of Magic, be ambushed by Death Eaters, and fight for his life in the Chamber of Death. People rarely do.

Nevertheless, this decision put a chain of events into motion that would change his life. And it was a change that would take years for him to come to terms with and which he never really managed to decide whether was for better or for worse in the end. This ambiguity might seem strange, but the hard fact is that the final step of the journey that was the result of his decision did not have an entirely cheerful conclusion. Things rarely do. Then again, things might easily have ended worse too, because they always can.

Harry didn't plan to be kidnapped that day, yet somehow, that was exactly what happened.

There were clues, of course, to some things, and perhaps he should have noticed. For one, there was the fact that the entrances to the Ministry were wide open. This should have been suspicious in itself, but Harry didn't really know that at the time. There was also the way in which all the corridors were completely deserted and there was the ridiculous, bizarre ease with which they found what they weren't really looking for.

But those were not his main thoughts as stood atop the dais in the middle of the Death Chamber, prophecy in a tight grasp, watching with horror how each of his friends were trapped and effectively put out of action. Because Harry Potter was kept busy that day by many, many things.

He was busy watching Bellatrix Lestrange's hands, which were white around Neville's shoulders. He was busy watching Hermione, who struggled against Dolohov's iron grasp. He couldn't even hear the faint voices from the Veil behind him anymore. They drowned out to the pulsing of blood in his ears.

More Death Eaters lurked in the shadows beyond and they occupied his mind as well.

"Were you really naïve enough to think that _you_ could stand a chance against _us_?"

When Lucius Malfoy stepped onto the dais in the middle of the sunken pit, Harry knew that they didn't stand a chance.

"Give me the prophecy now or watch your friends die."

As though from a distance, he heard Neville shout, "Don't give it to him, Harry!" But the voice strangled when Bellatrix' wand pressed into Neville's throat.

But just as Harry handed the small crystal sphere over to Malfoy, the door to the Death Chamber opened.

"Get away from my Godson!"

Rarely had a familiar voice brought with it such an enormous sensation of relief. The Order of the Phoenix stormed in in a whirl. Sirius, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Tonks, Remus, Mr. Weasley, Mad-Eye Moody. Within seconds, Sirius' spell hurled Malfoy onto the dusty stone floor and the prophecy shattered into a thousand tiny shards.

Sirius grasped Harry's arm hard.

"Listen to me," he said very clearly. "Take the others and get out of here."

Perhaps this exact moment was as fateful as his decision, but Sirius had asked Harry the impossible.

"No!" He wrenched away. "I want to be with you."

"Don't be a fool, Harry." Sirius shook his shoulder. " _Now_. Let me take it from here."

But Harry could not leave because Malfoy was already back on his feet and Sirius spun around. They fired curses side-by-side until a stunner sent Malfoy careening off the dais.

Something caught Harry's eye then. Several steps up, on the stone benches surrounding the Veil, stood Bellatrix. She had her wand trained at Sirius' heart.

Harry was about to leap between them. He didn't have any other family that cared about him in the way that Sirius did, which made this particular decision an easy one. He was prepared to take the hit, but something very strange happened instead.

Out from the shadows came a masked Death Eater. The general shape and size of him indicated that it was a man and he moved so quickly that it almost appeared as though he had taken flight. He traversed the benches in just a few long strides and collided hard with Bellatrix' side.

Her spell hit the Veil with a chilling hiss and the explosion sent Sirius stumbling down in Malfoy's path, shaken but alive. She fired another curse after him and for a fleeting moment of short-lived elation, Harry thought the masked Death Eater was trying to help Sirius because he sent off a spell as well, which interjected Bellatrix' one and overshot Sirius by several feet.

But then Tonks cried out behind him and he knew from the anguished tone of her voice that things had gone horribly awry.

Before he charged forward, Harry turned his head for the briefest moment it took to see Remus, crumbled on the ground and lifeless.

From then, he knew only rage. Somehow, he must have achieved a speed similar to that of the masked killer. Before anyone else could react, Harry was upon him, knocking against him so hard that they both fell to the floor.

For a moment, the Death Eater just sat there, as though he was just as shocked as Tonks had sounded mere seconds before. Harry used the moment of inattention to get hold of the killer's wand and he broke it in half with a satisfying snap. He then aimed his own at the masked man's chest.

" _Crucio!_ "

But the curse only served to knock him back on his elbows and then, sinewy arms caught Harry from behind.

"There now," said Bellatrix close by his ear. She wrestled Harry's own wand from his grip and threw it across the room, out of reach. "There now, little Potter. You're coming with me."

"No!"

Sirius charged forward and the Order and the Death Eaters alike fired spells in every direction.

"Take him."

Bellatrix shoved Harry harshly against Remus' murderer and he struggled with all his might against the arms that gripped him. The man tried to wrestle him down from the benches, but Harry fought it and managed to jerk his elbow into a soft spot. The Death Eater did not lose his hold, but he grunted in pain and the mask clattered to the floor.

Suddenly, Sirius and Bellatrix seized their duelling when a blinding white light forced them all to shield their eyes. Dumbledore's tall form materialised with a resounding crack in the centre of the chamber.

Several of the Order members cheered. Dumbledore took a quick stock of the battle before his eyes found Harry's.

"Get out of here, old man, before the Dark Lord arrives." Bellatrix moved around the Remus' murderer to reach Harry and grasped hold of his hair. "Or perhaps you would prefer to watch while we kill him?"

"Come down, Bellatrix," said Dumbledore over the crackle-and-hiss of fired spells. "Let him go."

She responded by spitting down towards the dais.

"Now," roared Dumbledore, seeming to address Harry and then he charged forward.

But Harry could do nothing. Bellatrix' grip tightened in his hair and his body suddenly felt as though he was being sucked through a too-tight rubber tube. The world swam and he lost track of time.

The Death Eater holding him seemed to cling on for dear life. The last thing Harry saw before the world went dark was Dumbledore's disappointed and angry expression.

When he came to, magical ropes bound his hands.

He lay on the ground in a littered back alley, tasting asphalt and blood. It was nearly dark out but when he blinked grit and fog from his eyes, he could gleam the outline of a public lavatory some fifty yards to his right. He tried to focus on the indistinct voices, which were talking in hushed tones over his head.

"-apparate further away?"

"Tsk," said a woman. Bellatrix. Harry gritted his teeth.

"-there wasn't much time. Besides, _he_ is on his way. If we wait here, we can deliver the boy directly."

A pointed boot nudged Harry in the back.

"I thought you had gone mad there for a second, but this-"

Bellatrix cackled sharply, making the hairs on Harry's neck stand on end.

"He will reward us like none of the others. Well played, old Sevy. Well played indeed."

"Thank you, Bella."

Harry felt sick to his stomach. He could have recognised that oily voice anywhere, anytime. It belonged to the only person he hated just as much as he hated Voldemort himself.


	2. A View to a Kill

Severus Snape was experiencing the deepest, most acute crisis of his spying career.

The occasional predicament was nothing new to him. He hand gone through several small and large catastrophes over his years, and in due time he had learned, by and large, to take them more or less in stride, with more or less grace.

But on this particular day, the complications were beginning to pile up.

He had not meant to kill Lupin. It was, as he found it, a twisted slip of fate. There was no lost love for him to lament, the werewolf would forever have been his enemy had he lived, but as enemies go, Severus knew those that were far more malicious. Yet, such were things, that the result of the whole calamity was the same regardless of any partiality he might or might not have:

A golden Gryffindor lay dead by his hand, the Order of the Phoenix would regard him as a renegade, and Harry Potter stood knocking on death's door, helpless on the ground and awaiting the Dark Lord's trial.

When the Headmaster had indicated for him to get the boy away from Bella, all he had been able to do was to hang on, effectively making himself guilty of abduction, to top it all off nicely.

He had seen the look in the Headmaster's eye. Trust is never easily handed to those that have broken it in the past and if he could not find an opportunity to defend his actions, and soon, the most powerful wizard alive would hunt him down to the death.

But that was not the end of it. The by far most pressing problem was standing above Potter, impatiently twirling the only wand in sight.

"Any time now." Bella watched the grey sky. "We shall call him once mroe, just in case." She pulled up her sleeve and hovered the tip of her wand above the Dark Mark.

Although one might argue whether or not he was a man of high morality and decency, Severus Snape did at the very least, at this most crucial of moments, know his immediate duty. This duty was the only thing that gave his life worth –in the eyes of those that mattered– and it had been his sole purpose and his bane since that fateful day so many years ago.

 _Protect Potter_ , he thought. Instinctively, he grasped her hand.

"Don't."

Bella's eyes narrowed.

"And why not, Severus?" She regarded him with narrowed eyes. "Why shouldn't I call our Lord?"

Why not, indeed?

Severus steeled his resolve. There was only one thing for him to do and if he did not act now, Potter would surely die.

He clamped down on her wrist with all his might. Bella had strong magic, but her body was frail after years of imprisonment. She tried to wring free. They watched each other for a moment, each breathing hard.

She angled the wand upwards.

" _Avada_ -"

Before she could complete the curse, Severus jerked her towards him so she lost her balance. Her wand poked his side sharply and he heard something snap.

Maybe one of the delicate bones in her hand?

He ran into her then, with his full weight behind it, and crushed her into the brick wall behind.

 _Keep Potter safe_.

She had the only weapon, but he knocked her brutally, and he held her wand arm, and he was stronger, and he was heavier, and he took her throat with his free hand and he _squeezed_.

Bella's neck was slippery with something warm and sticky. Severus did not want to watch. _Keep Potter safe_ , was the only thing he could think. He squeezed his eyes shut, just as he squeezed her mercilessly. She twitched and kicked and it seemed to last a lifetime, but he didn't release her until she lay still.

 _Keep Potter safe_ …

He climbed to his knees unsteadily, fighting back the urge to retch up against the cold stone wall. When he straightened, he was shaking so hard he could hear his own teeth clatter inside of his skull.

He was no killer…not until today.

Potter watched him with wide, mistrustful eyes.

"Is she… _dead_?"

 _Keep Potter safe_ , he thought. He turned to put a hand on Bella's throat once more.

She was. He heaved again.

Potter started to struggle against the ropes. Severus picked Bella's wand up from the ground; the heartstring of a dragon hung uselessly from the broken shaft.

"Lie still, Potter," he said. "We need to-"

"Tonks!" Potter's eyes fixed on the opposite pavement.

A young woman stood there, heartbroken, with her wand raised, in plain view of anyone who cared to watch. Severus could have recognised that look in her eyes from a mile's distance. He knew it with intimate familiarity.

"Oh, hell."

Surely, she would not hesitate to kill him. Severus concealed the damaged part of Bella's wand within his hand. He yanked Potter to his feet and held him up like a human shield.

"Nymphadora," he called to her, voice strained as the boy struggled against his hold, "I need to talk to the Headmaster, there has been a-"

A blasting curse exploded against the wall directly above his head. A hidden part of him was grateful as scattered pieces of brick and mortar rained down over their heads. He did not doubt her aim, it was a mere warning and Severus himself would not have been so gentle.

"Murderer!" She ran across the road and took cover behind a trash bin. Even from this distance, he could see the blotches of read framing her eyes.

Severus managed to shove a squirming Potter out of the alley. He needed a back-up plan so he extended his hand into the main street and pushed Potter harshly down into a crouch behind a parked lorry.

"Nymphadora?" He edged forward to get a view of the trash bins on the other side, but the place was empty. "Are you there?" He looked in the direction of the alley. "It wasn't supposed to be like this," he called. "I never meant to kill him. Nymphadora? I-"

A jet of green light hit the lorry's side so hard that one of the tires exploded. Severus threw himself on top of Potter.

"Release him!" she yelled. "You filthy traitor, Snape! You cannot have him!"

Several spells followed, but the sound of approaching feet interrupted them.

"Tonks," a man's voice called, "is it Harry?"

"Sirius!" Potter renewed his struggles. "Sirius! I'm here, I-"

"Potter, stop." Severus clamped his hand down over the boy's mouth. "The Dark Lord will arrive at any moment," he said intently. "We have to get out of here. Can't you silence that mutt of yours and make them see reason?"

"You- utter- bastard!" Potter threw his head backwards, knocking into Severus' nose.

"Arh! Stop it- Potter-" He wiped some blood away and shook the boy roughly. "Will you get into that thick skull of yours that we're on the same side?"

Then, several things happened at once. With a bang, a purple triple-decker bus materialised in the street, drowning out Potter's enraged reply. Nymphadora and Black charged against the lorry just as several of the other Order members came running out of the lavatory on the opposite side of the road.

Then Severus' Dark Mark burned, announcing the arrival of the Dark Lord.

He had no time to search the crowd for the Headmaster. Neither did he wish to see the rage or accusation in his eyes. Without nicety, he pulled Potter onto the Knight Bus and slammed the door shut behind them. He aimed the tip of Bellatrix' wand at the conductor's throat.

"King's Cross Station. Do not stop for anyone else."

The young man's eyes widened.

" _Now_." Severus used the adrenaline boost to send off a wandless stinging hex and the conductor scrambled around.

"You heard, him Ernie," he yelped. "We've been hijacked!"

"Dah iza first," said the shrunken head that hung from the rear-view mirror. "Hit it, Ern!"

The bus jerked into motion. Severus stood next to Potter as Nymphadora's tear-stained face disappeared from their sight.

The boy looked shaken and resigned. Severus could not blame him for he felt the same way.

His cover was in shards, his usefulness for Dumbledore spent, and by killing Lupin and Bella and kidnapping Potter, he must have made himself the most wanted wizard in all of Great Britain and her colonies combined.

Surely, a god was laughing down at him somewhere because the world could not be so utterly mad.

His only chance of survival was to somehow deliver Potter safely, and to do it in a way that would grant him back Dumbledore's shattered trust. But before he could attempt any of that, he had to make a potion.

He would be in dire need of it before this night was through.


	3. Prisoner

The trip on the Knight bus went by in a blur. Much later, most of the details from that part of their journey would be completely lost from Harry's memory.

When they reached King's Cross, Snape had dragged him into a dense crowd of people and they passed through the Underground at St. Pancras before entering the railway station. Somehow, his teacher managed to produce tickets from a vending machine without using money, and proceeded by throwing his black cape over Harry's shoulders –likely to conceal the ropes rather than for comfort– and hauling him into a muggle train cart.

Then followed a couple of tense hours, where Snape sat closest to the isle, scowling at anyone who dared as much as glance at them. The silence was oppressive. Harry couldn't see it, but from the man's tense body language, he guessed that Snape was holding Bellatrix' wand at the ready the entire ride. It was all very surreal.

He was exhausted when the train stopped and Snape finally indicated for him to get up.

He had no idea where they were. They walked through cobbled streets in a small town for what seemed like an eternity and ended up in the most run-down and dirty neighbourhood Harry had ever seen.

The deserted houses were made of brick, with dull, blind windows and flaking paint. An immense chimney reared up into the dark sky. It towered over the houses like an ominous, despotic finger.

Snape approached the last house in the line and started to dig through his pockets. After a moment, he pulled up a small key on a leather string and opened the door.

When Harry didn't follow, he turned on the doorstep.

"Come along then, Potter," he said impatiently. It was the first thing any of them had said to each other since boarding the Knight Bus. "I haven't got all night."

The commanding tone immediately drew Harry's ire. He had been too shaken before, too frightened for anger, but now, all he wanted to do was fight. He stood his ground in the street, defiantly.

"I'm not going in there."

'With you' was heavily implied. Harry tried to cross his arms in front of his chest, bristling when his bound hands snagged on Snape's expansive cape.

"Yes, you are." Snape marched back out and clamped an ice-cold hand down on Harry's neck. He tried to wrench away, but Snape propelled him into the house through a narrow hall and released him into a dark lounge, which was dusty from disuse. It held sparse, worn-down furniture. The bookcases reached all the way up to the ceiling, giving off the impression of a padded cell.

Snape locked the door from the inside and pocketed the key.

"Potter?"

Harry's jaw clenched. He stared resolutely at a dark windowpane, were he could see Snape's pale, distorted reflection.

"What would you do if I were to release you from those ties?"

Harry's head whipped around on its own accord. _Kill you in your sleep_ , his mind provided. _Just as you killed Remus_.

Snape watched him impassively. "Perhaps not then," he said quietly, turning to the adjoining kitchen.

"I will tell Dumbledore," whispered Harry to Snape's back. "I will tell Dumbledore that you kidnapped me and that you're treating me like a prisoner and that you should be locked up in Azkaban like the Death Eater you are."

"Don't _threaten_ me." Snape's voice was low and hard as he spoke to the same window Harry had looked into. "Don't you dare threaten me," he repeated. "You ignorant dunderhead. Would you perhaps prefer that I deliver you to the Dark Lord?"

"No." Harry stepped closer. He wanted to punch Snape in the face, to kick and rage at him, to make him suffer. "I'm not just going to take this," he snarled. "I'm not staying here a second longer and I'm not going to listen to you go on about your precious _Lord_. Go kiss his feet then, if you love him so much, you evil, murdering, old bastard."

Snape turned to face him. "As far as I recall, I am the only person here with a wand," he said calmly. "For your information, Potter, that means I am in charge." He pointed at an armchair. "So sit down and be quiet."

"And what do you mean by that, exactly?" Harry scoffed. "Do you think that I'm afraid of you?"

"If it weren't for me," hissed Snape, "you would be dead as a doornail."

"If it weren't for _you_ , Remus would still be alive!"

Snape's hands balled into fists at his side. Harry almost wished he would strike, if only for a reason to hate him even more.

"You don't regret it at all, do you?" Harry heaved for air. The atmosphere in the house was stifling, almost suffocating. "You are the vilest, most cowardly, most selfish person I have ever met! I wish you were dead in Bellatrix' place!"

Ugly blotches of red formed high on Snape's cheeks. He took a step closer to Harry.

"You are an ungrateful little toerag, Potter," he spat. "Just like your father before you. If you had only come with me back in that chamber, we could have been safely back at Hogwarts now."

"Come _with_ you?" Harry couldn't believe his ears. "Why would I do that? You haven't given me a single reason to trust you, not ever! I had no idea it was you, and if I did, I could have cast that curse properly! You acted like a Death Eater! You killed Remus!"

"It was an _accident_!"

The silence following Snape's roar was deafening.

They watched each other, both berating hard until Harry broke out in a laugh that sounded close to hysterical, even to his own ears.

"An _accident_?" The laugh turned into a near-sob. " _I saw your memories_ , Snape. Have you forgotten? I _know_ how much you must have hated him."

"All the same," said Snape, a little quieter, "I didn't wish him dead."

Harry blinked back tears. Snape might have been sincere, but right then, he didn't really care about that at all.

"Now be still and leave me alone." Snape turned his back on him once more, shoulders slumped as though all the fight had suddenly gone out of him. "We are through with this conversation."

He watched in silence as Snape started to rummage through the kitchen.

With his rage spent for now, all that remained was a feeling of being small and helpless. The ropes bit into his hands and he closed his fists around the cape to prevent them from trembling. After a while, he sat down in the armchair, shaking Snape's horrid bit of clothing to the floor.

There was nothing to do and in lieu of arguing with Snape, Harry examined his surroundings in the hope of finding an escape route.

The books were mostly bound in black or brown leather. The furniture was threadbare and the table rickety and the place had an air of neglect, as though it was not usually inhabited. There was a crack in one of the bookcases, which looked a bit like a concealed door.

Harry stole a glance at Snape's back. He seemed familiar with the kitchen and his surroundings. He had fired up the largest burner on the stove and on the bench stood a cauldron and a great number of flasks and vials. Harry had no idea what it was for; he wasn't all that great with Potions.

But stripped of his coat, which now hung over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, and without the billowing cape he usually wore, Snape seemed somehow less threatening. His longish hair was greasy, even when judging by Snape-standards. There was also an intensity reminiscent of desperation in the way he sorted through the various ingredients and the image of Bellatrix Lestrange's lifeless face came unbidden to Harry's mind.

And of Snape, pale and panting, leaning up against the brick wall.

Why had he killed her like that?

The act seemed to have cost him. Was it to receive the full honour of delivering Harry to Voldemort all by himself?

But then, why hadn't he done as much already? And why were they here in this dilapidated, old house, which looked like it might belong to a muggle?

"Whose house is this?" he asked Snape, hoping the answer would not be some family the Death Eaters had killed.

Snape stilled. It was almost as though he had forgotten that Harry was there.

"It is mine," he said, so low he might have been speaking to himself, "as long as that lasts."

Harry squinted at the dust covering the lamp above the armchair. For being such a nag about cleaning cauldrons, Snape wasn't very proficient with household spells.

"I need the bathroom."

Snape grunted, obviously preoccupied. "Upstairs," he grumbled, pointing over his shoulder at the crack in the bookcase. "First door on the right."

Harry stood, trying not to appear eager. "I can't…you know, with these."

He held out his hands.

It would surely have taken a mere flick of his wand, but Snape picked up a small dicing knife instead, cutting through the ropes meticulously.

Harry snorted. If Snape was trying to bully him, it wasn't very effective.

But he didn't consider that for too long, because he now had a free pass to the first floor. He hurried up the stairs through the hole in the bookcase, easing his step when he reached the top landing to prevent the worn wooden floor from creaking.

There was a short hall upstairs, with three doors and no windows. He opened the first, which lead to a tiny bathroom.

The wallpaper hung in ribbons and the fixtures were ancient and corroded. There was no way out. Harry turned back.

The next room was a small bedroom. A worn Slytherin uniform hung off a peg on the wall. The style of it was a little different to those Harry's classmates used.

Had Snape been telling the truth when he said the house was his?

The thought was an odd one. Harry tried the window, which looked out towards a grimy riverbank. It was stuck.

Anxiety rising, he tried the last door. This was also a bedroom, but it was larger and had a mustard-yellow rug on the floor. It also had a bed with sheets and a basket of dirty laundry beside an open closet. Snape's room then. Harry grimaced.

But the window was large. It faced the street and there was a gutter drainpipe just a few feet to the left. Harry's heart skipped. This was it, but he had to be quick. Snape was surely moments away from suspecting.

He tried the hasps, but just like in the smaller room, they were stuck. He had to break the glass. There was an open book on the bedside cabinet. Harry closed the bedroom door silently. Then he tore a shirt out of the cupboard and wrapped the book inside.

He went back to the window and raised the book into the air and then-

He _really_ needed the bathroom.

Every other thought seemed to fly from his head. He dropped the book to the floor with a dull thump. The urge was so strong he broke into a run.

He scrambled back out, into the opposite room and did exactly what he had told Snape he was going to do.

He flushed and washed his hands and walked downstairs.

In the kitchen, Snape was going through his cupboards.

"Did you forget something?" he asked, glancing at Harry. There was a wicked glint in his eyes.

"What?"

Snape gave a hollow chuckle, revealing uneven, yellowing teeth. "The windows," he said. "I have them secured against thieves. Remember now?"

He did. Harry felt his cheeks heat. Trust the bastard to keep protective spells on pure spite. There surely wasn't much to steal in this miserable, old house.

"The bed is mine," said Snape. "But I suppose you know that by now. You can take the sofa if you wish to rest." He thrust a spoon, a canister of tinned soup and an opener into Harry's arms and waved him off.

Harry went back to his place in the armchair. The food was cold, but at least he didn't have to worry about Snape trying to poison him. Which was lucky. He was ravenous.

Snape sat at a small table by the window, eating something out of his own tin. At uneven intervals, his gaze flicked towards the burner on the kitchen counter and the liquid that threatened to boil over the cauldron's edge.

Harry watched him out of the corner of his eye, wondering what went through that greasy head. Snape was making a potion, he knew that much, but what was it for? And what, exactly, was it that Snape had planned to do?

The silence grated on his nerves.

"What happens now?" he asked at last.

Snape leaned back in his chair. "Tonight?" he asked. "We stay here."

"Why?"

Harry frowned. He almost regretted the question because on balance, maybe staying wasn't such a bad thing. Surely, someone had to be looking for them, someone who might know where Snape lived.

"I need- There is a potion I have to make." Snape's hand twitched, as though the thought made him uncomfortable. "The Aurors are probably busy dealing with the muggle community of Whitehall for some time yet." He sighed through his crooked nose. "But we must leave before the break of dawn."

"Then what?"

"We are going to visit an old friend of mine-" Snape cocked his head a little, "-of sorts. You will be back in school before this time tomorrow."

"You have _friends_?" blurted Harry, lightly horrified. He didn't want to know what kind of people those might be. Lucius Malfoy, possibly, if he ever got away from the Ministry debacle.

That thought gave him pause. Did _his_ friends even get away? Were they all right? And what about the Order? Snape had said that Voldemort was near, shortly before they got onto the Knight Bus.

He looked up at Snape again, all the questions burning him.

But Snape was already watching him and he seemed to have guessed Harry's thoughts. "We shall pick up a newspaper on the way," he said quietly. "But I don't think there is need for worry. The Headmaster, he is…" Snape stopped for a moment, eyes on his food, "…he is a profoundly powerful wizard."

"I know," said Harry and they ate the remainder of their meals in silence.

He spent the rest of the evening in his armchair, intent on keeping an eye on Snape. He was sure the man would need to sleep at some point and that would be his chance to get away. Burglar jinxes or not, this time he would be prepared for Snape's mind tricks.

But somehow, he must have dozed off, despite his best efforts.

The next thing he knew was a hand nudging him awake by the shoulder, and then the early rays of morning sun that twinkled through the flimsy curtains by the window.


	4. A Sinking Ship

Severus rubbed a hand over his face. The night had been rough, but when the Dark Lord started to call him sometime around midnight, his first batch of high-grade pain relief was already bottled and ready.

At least something had gone to plan in the wretched disaster that now was his life. He could not have gone on without it. The wrath of the Dark Lord was no laughing matter and although he had no means to locate his Death Eaters, the Dark Mark could inflict a burning ache so strong it was nearly paralysing. This would require the Dark Lord's intense focus of course, and for a prolonged period, but Severus did not doubt his former Master's inclination to take revenge. Traitors were not favoured among the followers of the dark.

He turned his back on the kitchen. It looked like a ruin, but that hardly mattered much. He had enough potion to last him through the short time it would take to return Potter to Hogwarts.

What remained was getting him there in one piece.

Passing a sleeping Potter in the lounge, Severus shook the boy roughly by the shoulder. He felt acutely uncomfortable having him in the house. Undoubtedly, if they were ever to return to a normal existence after these adversities, Potter would surely delight in telling all his Gryffindor friends about their adventures and especially how the reviled Dungeon Bat lived in a hovel in the most destitute, godforsaken corner of nowhere. The thought alone made his skin crawl.

But it couldn't be helped. What he got in surreptitious scowls and whispers behind his back, he would give in return in the classroom and woe to the student that dared say anything to his face. He'd had enough of that in his childhood to last a lifetime.

As though to punctuate his promise, he threw the door to the hall open with a loud bang. The small chest of drawers there held gloves, mufflers, hats, and mittens, relics from his parents that he had never used. They smelled like mothballs and stirred up memories of times long past. His hand hesitated above the light silken scarf for a moment before he tore it out of the drawer and thrust it in Potter's direction.

"Tie it around your head," he told the boy, "and remove the glasses. We are leaving."

"Wha-" Potter scrambled out of the chair he had spent the night in, his shock of black hair sticking out in every direction. " _Now_?"

Severus huffed. "Yes, Potter. Now. It's almost seven. We should have been on our way a long time ago."

"Oh." Potter scratched his bird's nest of a head. "Just, err- just let me go upstairs for a moment?"

While Potter ran up the creaky stair, Severus shrugged into his father's old raincoat. It might look rather conspicuous in fair weather, but he would not need it for long. Worse muggle decoy had been worn by better wizards than him.

He stuffed Bella's broken wand and a selection of flagons and vials into the deep pockets. He had already collected all the spare change he could find in the house, pounds and galleons alike. He didn't have much, but it would take them to London and then some, just in case.

He wondered what the day would bring. If he was lucky, they might both be back at Hogwarts by nightfall.

If not, then—well. Best not to dwell on that. He would just have to leave in the Headmaster's hands.

But if he could get rid of Potter somewhere safe, and without being captured, then maybe the Headmaster would be more inclined to listen. Especially if someone else stood up for him. Someone whose opinion there was still a chance that he could sway.

Severus stilled. The house seemed suddenly very quiet. A much longer time had passed than anyone would reasonably need to use the facilities. He sighed and followed in Potter's path. Surely it was only hours ago that the wards had defeated him. Trust the horror to learn nothing from his mistakes.

The bathroom door was closed so he knocked brusquely.

"Potter?"

There was no reply. He tried the doorknob, but it was locked.

"Potter," he said sharply, "we have to leave at once. I don't know how much time we have before someone arrives."

"Let them," was Potter's muffled reply from inside the bathroom. "I hope they throw you in Azkaban."

Of course he did. Severus bit back a groan. "Potter," he said, tugging on the handle, "Potter, if somebody comes here, they're more likely to be Death Eaters rather than Aurors. We must leave. Now."

"Nice try, _Professor_." The boy scoffed. "I'm sure you'd want me to believe that. Why don't you just run away then and leave me be?"

"Do you _want_ to die?" Only Potter could call him professor and make it sound like an insult. The little cretin sure was lucky he didn't have his wand. Severus gnashed his teeth together. "They won't be conjuring pillows at you."

"I'm confident you won't lose any sleep."

"Don't you see?" said Severus to the closed door. He would rather drag a frightened Potter around than a kicking and screaming one. "The Headmaster surely believes I have delivered you to the Dark Lord. The Order isn't going to come looking for us here, it's the most unlikely place for us to be."

"If Dumbledore thinks we're with Voldemort," said the boy, "then Voldemort must think we're with Dumbledore. You're not fooling me, Snape. I'm not going anywhere with you."

The logic was not entirely absent, but where the Headmaster was calculating and liked to plan ahead, the Dark Lord was combustible and short on empathic intelligence. Chances were he expected Severus to attempt bribery.

"Goddamn it, Potter." Severus shook out his wristwatch and took a deep breath. It was late. Very late. They didn't have time for this. "I'm taking you back to your friends," he tried. "I thought that was what you wanted?"

The appeal was met with silence. There was only one thing left to do.

"Get away from the door." Severus stepped a few feet back, sorely tempted to let it smack Potter in the face. "It opens inwards."

And it was brittle and old. He aimed a forceful kick, driving in his heel just at the side of the lock, hearing the satisfying crack of splintering wood.

It took several more attempts before the frame gave way. Potter was sitting on the edge of the bathtub. He watched Severus' raincoat with an odd frown.

"Why didn't you use your wand?"

Severus put the saying 'if looks could kill' through a solid test, feeling proud of his restraint. The boy flinched.

"Potter," he growled, lost for words. The tension was starting to get to him and he was already dead on his feet after being awake all night. Without nicety, he grasped Potter by the scruff of his neck, ignoring his startled yelp of pain. He hauled him out and downstairs, drawing Bella's wand for good measure.

"Put the scarf on and give me your glasses."

The boy complied meekly. Had he known that brute force would be this effective he would have used it sooner, but somehow he had thought it would make Potter angrier rather than yielding. At least they could pass as muggles now, in the eyes of an inattentive wizard. Severus looked around his living room on last time.

Then, they heard it.

The sound of footsteps from outside the door. A softly spoken ' _alohomora'_.

For the briefest of moments, he recognised his own fear in Potter's eyes. Then the boy ran.

Severus followed Potter through the kitchen and out onto the small porch that faced the back yard. It was already too late to use the floo.

"That way." He indicated a few broken planks in the picket fence. "Towards the river. Move!"

They sprinted the few meters and Potter jumped through the tiny hole first. Severus, who was bigger, had to squeeze in between. He was nearly out before the first curse tore through the air just above his shoulder. He whipped his head around in time to see a single, dark shape flash by the window.

"Run." He pushed Potter ahead of him in the direction of the sparse forest sloping down towards the ditch where his mother once used to dump the garden waste. "The thicket over there. Run!"

Potter did. Severus stalled for a moment to make sure he got away. When he was certain only one person was chasing them, he took off in the opposite direction.

Rarely had he crossed the riverbank at such a speed, not even when running from his father as a boy. But before soon, a stunner grazed his thigh. Severus didn't even bother to pretend with Bella's wand. His only advantage was that he was far more familiar with the area than any of his old comrades were. He also recognised the duelling style of Thorfinn Rowle, who preferred to barge in without regard for stealth. He was a better runner than Severus, for sure, but he was also reckless and impatient.

And the curses being thrown after him indicated that Rowle had missed Potter's escape. Crossing between the backyard sheds on top of the riverbank, Severus led him steadily to the mill.

Since the mid-seventies, when the cotton factory shut down, the place had decayed into a hollow, overgrown ruin. Smashed windows and broken doors witnessed the long-ago nightly escapades of local lads. Severus burst through the large double gates and threw them wide open to make sure Rowle knew where he was. He manoeuvred around the broken glass on the floor and took a stance behind one of the three iron boilers that still remained inside.

He needed a weapon. He could do some magic without a wand, but it was demanding and fickle, especially if he was under stress. There was an empty beer bottle on the floor and he picked it up and knocked it against the ground so that the bottom shattered. Then he waited.

Before soon, a shadow flicked across the wall.

"Severus?" came Rowle's voice over the crunch of broken glass. "I know you're in there."

Severus bit back a curse when a shard from his bottle broke loose and leapt merrily across the floor. The sound amplified in the large, empty room. Rowle stilled.

"The Dark Lord is impressed," he said carefully, "he told me so himself. If you hand over the boy, he might even let you live."

Severus held his breath when Rowle's feet moved closer.

"What you did to Bella was quite a feat…"

There was a clink of metal from Rowle's end and it echoed through the boiler.

"Let us know your terms and I'll talk to him. Put in a word for you. You want that, don't you? Severus?"

The voice was only feet away from his hiding spot. Had it been Fenrir Greyback, Severus would already have been dead. He grasped the flask in both hands and ducked below one of the steel pipes, ready to strike.

But before the rough, jagged glass could hit its target, Rowle was gone with a jarring crack.

Severus stared at the empty spot in front of him, awaiting the second sound of apparition, which would surely accompany his demise.

What would death feel like? The Dark Lord would want to torture him, he knew. And then, Lily would kill him again in the afterlife. Provided, of course, that they ended up in the same place.

But that, indeed, was unlikely.

At the very least, Potter still had a chance at life.

Another moment passed when nothing happened.

The flask dropped out of his hand. Surely, Rowle would be back within minutes, this time with reinforcements. He took off again, in a flat-out run, chasing through the deserted mill and across the slippery riverbank until he reached the ditch near his house.

Potter was gone.

His sides ached and his throat burned. Had they caught the boy after all? Was he with the Dark Lord already? Were they torturing him?

He would have to go to Little Hangleton then. If only to follow Potter to the death.

A piece of clothing snagged onto a thorn bush some thirty yards ahead caught his eye. Its colour was remarkably similar to that of a Hogwarts uniform.

If Potter had gone that way, he might have ended up at the-

Severus ran again, following the lead to the playground on the opposite side of the river. He was breathing hard by that time and had to bend over his knees for a moment.

The place looked the same as it always had; a set of swings, an overgrown sandpit and a rusty seesaw. He spun in a circle, heart beating fast. It was also deserted.

"Potter?" His voice sounded foreign, strained, and it wasn't only from the exertion. "Potter, are you here?"

There was no reply. Severus' eyes landed on the gnarled willow by the river. There was a split in it on the other side, a favoured hiding-spot of his childhood days.

Guided by his gut feeling, he crossed the knee-high patch of rough grass and crept around the stem without making sound.

"Potter."

The boy was hunched beneath a broken branch, eyes wide with fright. Back in school, Severus might have felt gleeful at such a sight, but there and then, it just gave him an odd stab in the stomach.

"It is only I." He raised his hands slightly. There was a cut high on Potter's cheek. "Are you injured?"

"I'm fine." Potter's fear seemed to morph into disappointment. He scrambled to his feet. "That was close."

"Thank you for that truly enlightening piece of information, Potter." For reasons Severus couldn't quite understand, anger and agitation warred with his previous panic. He suddenly wanted to shake the boy's expression from his face. "You really are the most moronic little dunderhead I have ever had the misfortune to come across, and I have met a fair few." He scoffed. "Close indeed."

"Why do you always do that?" Potter scowled. "Put me down all the time. I never did anything to you."

Severus gave a dark bark of a laugh. How the boy had wronged him? By existing, that was how. He grasped Potter's arm.

"This way."

He picked a path through the undergrowth, carefully avoiding the open space by the swings. When they reached the gravel lane beyond, Potter wrenched away.

"Where are we going?"

"Back to the house," said Severus brusquely. "We are using the floo."

"And the Death Eaters? Where are they?"

Severus just jerked his shoulder dismissively. He was starting to feel a little paranoid because unfortunately, the need to bypass Rowle and his potential companions, who were probably searching through the mill right now, had forced them onto an alternative track. One that Potter, if Severus was unlucky, would surely recognise.

And of course he was unlucky. Judging by the boy's curious looks around the relatively neat neighbourhood, he knew exactly where they were.

The silence seemed to go on forever and Severus feared he couldn't handle the impending confrontation with grace. Had Potter noticed him falter? Probably.

It was best to tear the plaster off while he was still ahead.

"You can say it, Potter," he said bitterly, when the tension had eaten at him long enough. "There's no need to beat around the bush."

Potter gave him a blank stare. "What?"

"Surely you must recognise where we are." Severus huffed. "It's the third one on the left, you moron. You can't have missed those rose bushes."

Potter frowned in a way that suggested he feared for Severus' sanity.

"I'm –ah– not quite following you, Snape," he said slowly. "Can't you just say what you mean for once, like a normal person?"

The twat really knew how to push his buttons. "Your mother's old house," Severus snarled. "I assume you want to pester me with questions."

Potter froze dead in his tracks.

"My what?"

So this was what it was going to be like? Severus kept on walking. "I know you know," he said. "There's no reason to be dramatic about it. We're here. You know. Now let's get you back to Hogwarts so that we never have to speak to each other again."

"Wait." Potter grasped his arm so hard he spun around. " _What_ did you say?"

Severus recoiled. "Do you have cotton in your ears?"

"No!" Predictably, the boy was angry. "What you said _before_. You said this was my mother's house. _Is it true_?"

"Did you mistake me for a liar, Potter?" Severus shook Potter's hand off his coat. "Don't pretend you're even duller than you are. I know you must have been here before."

"She _lived_ here?" Potter was watching him with wide eyes. "How can you possibly-" Astonishment turned to horror as the boy connected the dots. " _You_? _You_ _knew_ _my mother_?" He stepped back, heaving for breath. "I don't believe it."

"Respect, Potter," hissed Severus. He had come out wrong-footed after all, and it was not his favourite state to be in. "I expect you to speak to me with respect, regardless of how unnatural that might fall to you."

"I'm not being insolent!" Potter's face had taken a hue similar to the cut on his cheek. "I can't believe that she would- that she lived _here_ , near _you_ , of all people. It's just too much, I-"

The disgust and disbelief on Potter's face struck home like a well-aimed knife. Something in Severus' chest dropped like a leaden weight to his stomach. If he had previously dreaded the humiliation of Potter tattling to his friends about Spinner's End, it was nothing against this. This was a direct hit. It tore at everything he was and everything he had ever held dear.

"Well, she's _dead_ ," he said harshly, "and not anything you can say or do changes that. Believe what you will. I couldn't care less."

The boy watched him for a time. Severus expected him to rage and yell, but instead, slowly, he turned to the house. He stared at it as though it held all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge.

It was a wrench to see, because Severus knew, deep down, that Lily didn't belong to him. She was Potter's, more so than she had ever been his.

Those were some very long and very uncomfortable moments. It was a shabby thing to do, even Severus could see that. Slapping Potter across the face with his dead mother brought him no satisfaction, and Lily would have hated him for it, rightfully so. Sodding boy. It was utterly ridiculous to let the brat get under his skin, but that didn't stop Severus from feeling low for what he said.

When he couldn't take it anymore, he dug through the pockets of his raincoat.

"Here, Potter. Wipe your face." He gruffly handed over a handkerchief and looked away. "There's blood on your cheek. People might mistake me for a child abuser."

Potter took it absent-mindedly. "There are only Death Eaters around," he said faintly. "But if they should care, they won't be that far off the mark."

"Really, Potter?" Severus scoffed. "Don't exaggerate. When did I _ever_ hit you?"

"Well…" Potter sniffed through the tissue. "…there was that time when you hurled a jar of cockroaches at my back. I remember it quite vividly."

Severus grunted his indifference. "That's a riveting tale," he said. "I remember it as well and I'm quite certain you deserved that one. Besides, I missed."

"And once you hit me over the head with a book for speaking out of turn in class-"

"I will do it again if you don't watch it."

"Actually, yes." The boy wiped his face. "You've done that more often than I can count. And then yesterday, you kidnapped me. But by and large, I guess you're only marginally worse than my Uncle Vernon." He looked up askance. "That is not a compliment."

"Enough now." Despite it all, Severus felt somewhat less horrible. "We don't have time for your dunderheaded whinging. We have lingered for far longer than we can afford."

"Right." Potter sighed shakily. "Where?"

"My house." Severus cast his eyes around the street. "Do try to keep up. I told you, we're going by floo."

"No," said Potter in an oddly small voice, "I mean where are we going from there?"

Severus glanced down at the boy. He looked small as well, even for his age. Small enough that he shouldn't be on the run with a wanted criminal. "I'm taking you back where you belong." He sighed. "But since the Headmaster and I are probably not on speaking terms, I need a middleman. That means London."

Severus started off in the direction of Spinner's End, this time avoiding the park. "Rowle is probably still lurking around here somewhere," he told Potter, "so keep your blasted head down."

Potter did. And somehow, they made it back without being seen.

The kitchen door was still wide open. Severus ordered Potter to wait in the narrow path between the houses and braved a peek inside. Miraculously, the lounge was empty.

They had made it. Potter was unharmed. Severus pushed the boy into the fireplace, which he had modified after his parents' deaths back in his early Death Eater days. He threw a handful of powder at their feet and the floo flashed green, spitting them out into the crowded reception area at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

Floor-to-ceiling windows gave light and air to the large, open room. There were rows of rickety wooden chairs with people in various degree of distress in them. Severus led Potter to a remote corner and sat.

Potter watched him, befuddlement written on his face.

"I promised you a newspaper, didn't I?" Severus nodded at an elderly witch a few seats to his left. "That one. She's doing the crosswords."

"Right." Potter blinked. "You want me to just…ask her for it?"

"No. I want you to knock her over the head and steal it. I'm sure she won't mind."

He rolled his eyes at the boy's horrified expression.

"Of course you ask her, Potter. If she's doing the crosswords, she's done reading. Now move along."

Potter drifted over and Severus rested his back against the chair, trying to appear inconspicuous while still being ready to flee at the slightest sign of trouble. He straightened when the boy returned with their prize.

"What does it say?"

Potter shook his head. "You have my glasses, remember?" He thrust the paper rather impatiently at Severus, who caught it with both hands.

 _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Returns_.

The headline glared at him in bold typing. He swiftly opened to the first page, holding the paper up against his face. Apparently, Fudge had finally regained his senses, but his days as minister were probably spent regardless. Severus read about the capture of Lucius Malfoy, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange and Antonin Dolohov. There seemed to be no mention of Potter's disappearance or of his own misadventures.

Potter prodded his elbow. "What happened to-?" He pointed at an imposing picture of the Headmaster. "Can't you read aloud?"

"They only mention one casualty," said Severus. "That would be Bella. Nymphadora and Shacklebolt were injured, but not fatally. We should keep our eyes out for them, they might be here."

Potter glanced around the room. "And my friends?"

"I don't know," admitted Severus. "It doesn't say. But I think it would if something terrible had happened." He folded the paper and stood. "Come now. There is someone here I'm sure you will want to see."

Potter followed in Severus' wake as they snuck past the reception desk when the stern lady behind it was engaged with an unfortunate man who had a Devil's Snare sapling sticking out of his trouser leg. They tackled the stairs without incident and a young female healer greeted them when they reached the fourth floor.

"May I help you, Sir?" she asked, casting a brief but friendly smile at Potter.

"Ah…yes." Severus recognised her as one of Pomona's former Hufflepuffs. He tried not to appear as though he was running from the law and hoped she would not recognise him. "We're here for the Professor."

"Certainly…" She glanced at his raincoat and blinked. "Certainly…Professor Snape. She's, ah…she's awake. Third room on the right."

It really wasn't his day. Severus ushered Potter across the hall and opened the door without knocking. He could feel the Healer's eyes on his back.

"Minerva?"

Potter startled when the door clicked shut behind them. They were in a single room with white, bare walls. It smelled like hospital and Severus' long-time colleague was sitting in a wheelchair by the window. Her head turned upon hearing them enter.

"Severus!" McGonagall squinted at Potter's scarf. "Mr…Potter? Is that you?"

"Professor McGonagall…" The boy stared, dumbfounded. "You're…here…"

"Indeed." McGonagall frowned at Potter. "Are you all right, Mr. Potter?" She glanced at Severus. "Quidditch accident?"

"No," huffed Severus. He couldn't quite conceal his relief; she obviously had no idea what he had done. "He's fine," he said, "but this isn't a social call, Minerva. There has been a series of unfortunate events and I find myself in dire need of your aid."

"Really?" She wheeled her chair around, mouth in a thin line. "Has it got anything to do with Umbridge? The Headmaster still works undercover, I presume?"

"No." Severus shook his head. "Haven't you read the news? Umbridge is out of the game, but that isn't really important anymore." He pointed at the boy. "Yesterday, the Dark Lord tricked Potter into breaking in at the Ministry."

"Did he?" McGonagall recoiled. "And Potter fell for it?" She watched the boy, who seemed to shrink several inches. "Of course he did. Any casualties?"

"Not among…our students." Severus kept his face impassive. "It was a scheme to get hold of the prophecy."

"Of course." McGonagall seemed oddly diminished when confined to a chair, even more so when she was rattled. "Well?" she demanded. "And what happened? Did he get it?"

"It broke." Severus rubbed a hand over his forehead, deliberating his words. "But that isn't important either. The Death Eaters were waiting for them and there was a bit of a skirmish…"

"Are you sure the boy is all right?" McGonagall's voice became sharp with concern. "Potter? You seem tense."

Potter's eyes flicked between them as though he was unsure of what to say and Severus came to realise just how poorly prepared he was for this conversation. He decided he would have to gloss over Lupin's death for now.

"He's _fine_ ," he said impatiently. "Minerva, will you listen? The Death Eaters attacked and Bella took Potter's wand. I had to-"

A sudden commotion outside the door startled them all. Potter's head jerked up. His eyes instantly flicked to Severus, but it was impossible to tell whether they reflected anticipation or trepidation.

Then, a voice rang out in the corridor, muffled by all the other sounds from the hospital.

"That one, number six hundred and five. She's in a wheelchair."

Aurors. Severus closed his eyes against the crushing disappointment. Somehow, the Healer must have known.

McGonagall watched him in increasing alarm. "Severus? What-?"

The door opened. Time was up and Severus' ship was sinking fast.

Had he come all this way only to receive the Dementor's kiss after all? What a vengeance of inscrutable destiny. Death by Rowle's hand would have been merciful.

The first red cloak came through. On instinct, Severus grasped Potter like a lifeline.

Without a wand, the risk was great. Neither would they get very far, but there was no time to deliberate.

The room twisted out of sight with a horrible lurch.


	5. The Other Hospital

A blurry squirrel skittered towards a nearby tree.

Harry blinked his eyes. His head lay on a tuft of grass and the taste of earth was in his mouth and the song of small birds in his ears. The sun shone down from a clear sky.

He stirred, unfolding stiff limbs from uncomfortable angles. He was in a park somewhere, with gravel lanes and crooked oaks and slender willows. There was even a fountain nearby, surrounded by a peaceful pond with a beautiful white swan on the water. An old man was feeding it with breadcrumbs from a brown paper bag. There were other people too, running or walking their dogs or sitting on benches. It was very strange...

He turned the other way and blinked again. Someone lay next to him.

Harry's head swam. He watched his prone teacher for what seemed like ages, unable to process the unusual sight. What had happened? What was Snape doing there on the ground and which park were they in?

If they had apparated, it could be anywhere.

Harry missed his glasses. Snape too, was blurry without them. But he seemed very still, almost disturbingly so. Was the man unconscious?

He straightened to his arms and knees. No one had noticed them, but maybe this was his opportunity to get away at last? He could easily run over to the bloke with the swan and request help. Snape seemed completely harmless in his current state. Harry could even ask that man to contact the police and have Snape arrested for snatching. The pond was only some hundred yards away, at most.

"Snape?"

Was that croak of a voice even his?

There was no reply. Harry crawled closer.

"Snape? What's wrong?"

Snape lay on his back, utterly still and Harry put a tentative hand on his chest. Contrary to popular belief, there was a heartbeat below his palm and he withdrew it quickly.

But it came back sticky with blood. Snape's face was greyish pale.

"Snape, come on." Harry nudged him in the side. "Get up, you big git."

That seemed to work. Snape tossed his head. "Po…" he started painfully, but then his breath hitched and he squeezed his eyes shut with a soft groan.

"What?" Harry leaned closer. All of a sudden his heart was racing. "Snape? What was that?"

Snape furrowed his eyebrows, staring back with dark, glassy eyes. He opened his mouth as though to say something, but only blood was able to leave his lips.

A trickle of ice slid down Harry's spine at the sight. He had no idea how to deal with this. Snape needed a healer, and quickly, that much was obvious. But Harry didn't know where they were, or how to get back to St. Mungo's. He couldn't apparate, even if he did have a wand.

But that, at least, was something. He pried Bellatrix' one out of Snape's limp hand. It was long and stiff compared to his own, with scratches and grooves along the shaft.

It was also broken.

The bastard had tricked him. Harry looked back up with a sharp remark at the ready, but Snape had gone still again.

"Oh, no…Snape?"

He pushed him like before. Snape made an expression of discomfort, but this time, he didn't open his eyes. Harry swallowed thickly against the feeling of being smothered by an invisible hand.

"Don't worry." He patted Snape's shoulder awkwardly, feeling that he had to offer at least a few shaky words of solace. "It's okay…"

He glanced around. Things were not okay at all. Would Snape die if he went in search of aid? The number of times he had wished his teacher gone for good haunted him in face of the shocking reality that it might actually come to pass. This was not what he had wanted and never again would he wish death upon someone he knew, no matter how tetchy or mean. It was so unlike what it had been to watch Remus or Bellatrix die. He was closer this time, more involved. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

"Just stay there for a moment, will you?" He patted Snape again. "Just…rest a bit. I'll get you help."

There really was no other option. Harry tore his gaze off Snape's unmoving form and started in a sprint to the man by the pond, stumbling over ungainly legs. But before he was halfway there, a jogger appeared ahead of him. Their eyes met across the footpath.

"Okay there, kid?"

Harry skidded to a halt. It was a young man with curly black hair. He wore gym shoes and a tracksuit and looked decidedly un-magical.

"No," he said tightly, making a quick decision. "Sn-" He waved a hand over his shoulder. "There has been an accident, I need help, I-"

The man trotted over, removing his earphones as he went. His pace quickened when Snape came into their field of view. "Ho!" His eyes widened in a way that would have been comical had the situation called for it. "Is that your old man?"

"No! I-" Harry dropped to his knees next to Snape's head. "Will he be all right? Can you do something?"

"I don't know. Step back a little, kid." The man crouched down and carefully lifted the hem of Snape's shirt, hissing under his breath. The scarlet contrasted vividly against the pale skin on Snape's stomach. It was a jarring sight.

"Help him," whispered Harry.

"Oh, bloody hell, who did that?" The man quickly pulled the shirt back in place. He drew a hand over his mouth. "That…that is quite an accident."

He fumbled to produce something out of his pocket, which looked vaguely like a remote control with a small antenna attached to the top. A mobile telephone, Harry realised when the man dialled a number and held the device to his ear.

The stranger spoke at length to whomever he had reached on the other end of the line. Snape didn't seem able to keep himself conscious or unconscious for longer than a moment at the time and flitted between the two. His hair was dusty up close, which was odd. There were small pieces of something that looked like bricks in it. Once, his hand reached out as though to grasp Harry's shirt, but it came up short and landed on his knee instead.

The muggle man removed his jacket and placed it on Snape's stomach. He held the phone to his ear by the crook of his neck, seeming to follow the instructions of a remote helper. After some time, his eyes caught Harry's.

"Your dad needs a hospital," he said, appearing to strive for calm. "An ambulance will be here shortly, but we need to put pressure on…" he gestured at Snape, "…on that. What happened?"

"I-"

Harry had no idea what to say, because he didn't really know what had happened. Something must have gone wrong with the appartition, but how could he explain that to a muggle without coming across as a complete lunatic?

"I think he was attacked," he said, quickly sticking with the first thing that came to mind. It was a blatant lie, but he rather thought the man would have forgiven that, had he known the truth. "I don't know what happened. I was…by the pond."

The stranger nodded his understanding, once more turning his attention to Snape. "Male, late thirties to early forties," he said into the telephone. "He seemed conscious before, but not aware. It isn't stopping."

Harry didn't need to ask what 'it' was. The jacket was already soaked through.

He watched the whole thing in helpless apathy. Snape's eyes were still closed, but gentler now and his head had slumped to the side. His grip on Harry's knee had slackened. He could have been dead and lying in a coffin for how he looked, with his face so pale and sallow. Even his chest didn't seem to be moving. Oh…

"Hey!" Harry bent forward. "Is he breathing at all?"

The muggle man glanced up, alarmed. He quickly dropped the phone and put two fingers at the exposed part of Snape's throat.

"Oh shit, oh no, no…"

He slapped Snape's face so hard that Harry startled.

"Hey, buddy! Wake up!"

Harry didn't have time to contemplate the absurdity of Snape being referred to as someone else's 'buddy', because right then, the wail of sirens behind him was the most beautiful music he had ever heard.

Three paramedics came out of the yellow-and-green ambulance and immediately set to work on Snape. They talked in low voices about 'code blue' and blood pressure and something called 'lidocaine'.

The stranger had crossed over to Harry and held him firmly in a way that didn't allow him to see what they were doing. He was grateful for that when they hauled Snape into the ambulance with a plastic tube sticking out of his airway.

The young man pushed him forward then. "His son," he told the driver of the ambulance. "Will he come along?"

"Absolutely not." The paramedic plotted something onto a digital screen on the dashboard. "Send him in a taxi to St. Thomas'. They will take it from there."

And so it was that Harry ended up in the second hospital reception area of that day.

Just like St. Mungo's, St. Thomas' had large floor-to-ceiling windows. There were even windows in the roof above a small coffee bar by the main entrance. Wooden chairs with blue padding stood against the wall in the furthest corner. Harry found himself one that allowed him to see as much open space as possible and sat.

And there he stayed. Rarely had he felt so alone. The kind muggle from the park had paid the taxi in advance and left. He had his own life to deal with of course, and Harry's problems were likely noting more than light dinner conversation for him by now.

At the very least, the wait gave him time to think. He'd had many opportunities to escape, but somehow, it felt a little too late for that by now. He was invested, he found. If Snape was in such a bad way as he had looked, he could always get away later and he wanted to know what happened to the man, even if it was only to see him caught by the Aurors.

Or even it was just to hear that he hadn't made it after all.

A long time passed, where patients and their relatives moved in and out and Harry sat by himself, wondering if Snape was already dead and everyone had just forgotten about him altogether.

When the street outside faded into grey, the trickle of people dwindled and before soon, he was the only person left. By then, he was close to giving up.

He stretched his feet, contemplating if he should risk sneaking further inside to look for Snape, but just as the first street lamps flicked on in the parking lot outside, a kind-looking woman in a pink uniform walked in.

"Hello there."

She sat down next to Harry, a clipboard and a pen in her hands.

"My name is Mary," she said softly. "I am a nurse at Accident and Emergency. Are you waiting for someone in particular?"

Harry tried to get a glimpse at the papers she held, but she had them angled slightly away from him. He would probably have to be careful about what he said, but the woman didn't look like she was there to arrest them. He cleared his throat.

"My…"

How on Earth was he supposed to refer to Snape? Teacher wouldn't cut it if he wanted to have a chance at figuring out what had happened. Then again, the muggle stranger had thought that Snape was Harry's dad.

"My father," he said, voice rusty from disuse. "He is ill, he- There was an accident in the park and I think he might have needed surgery."

The reality of it all hadn't really sunken in before he said it aloud. Was Snape behind those doors somewhere now, as lifeless and pale as Remus?

Harry swallowed. "Will I be able to see him?"

"I thought it might be you." The nurse, Mary, watched him sympathetically. We received your father this afternoon. You are right, he was seriously injured."

"How?" He turned to face her. "How serious? Can you be more specific, please?"

"I know, dear." The kindly nurse put a hand on his shoulder. "They are doing their best to help him, but it's a bit early to say yet." She smiled gently. "In the meantime I need some information from you."

"Er, okay…"

Mary crossed one foot above the other, revealing white socks in pink slippers. Harry secretly hoped she didn't have a thing for sickly sweet kittens as well.

"What's your name, dear?"

"It's Harry," said Harry without thinking.

"Okay…and your last name?"

Drat. He couldn't state his real name, could he? What if someone else here were a wizard? Even though his disappearance hadn't been mentioned in the papers yet, that didn't mean the news hadn't spread.

"It's Harry –ah– Harry Evans."

Nurse Mary nodded. "And your father?"

"Sn- Severus."

"Severus Evans." Mary wrote something on the clipboard. "And your mother?"

Harry's palms were sweaty. If Snape were alive, he was going to kill him for this. "She is dead."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." Mary-the-nurse frowned. "Any other relatives? Your grandparents perhaps?"

He shook his head. "They're dead as well. It…it's just me and him."

She nodded again, eyes on the paper. "Does your father have any allergies, Harry? Does he take any regular medicines?"

"No," said Harry, hoping to the heavens that he was right. He was going to have to ask Snape about that later.

"Where do you live?"

"Oh." He didn't even know where they were now. "Well, we live far from here," he said. "We're just visiting, we live very far away."

"Is that so?" The nurse raised her eyebrows. "And where do you usually live?"

Harry furiously attempted to remember the address to Snape's house, only to come up blank. But he did vaguely remember the name of the railway station where they had gone off the train.

"Cokeworth," he said at last. "It's the last house on the end of the street before the factory. My -ah- my room looks out towards the river."

"Oh, that sounds nice." Mary gave him another gentle smile.

"Er, yeah, it's a bit of a mud hole actually," said Harry, remembering his encounter with the thorn bushes in the ditch. "The river bank, I mean." He felt his ears heat a little with the knowledge that the nurse believed him to live with Snape.

"Mm." She didn't seemed disturbed at all. "Are you sure there's no other relatives?" she asked. "Do you have uncles or aunts? Siblings? Any friends that you know well? We need to get in contact with those that know your father, you see."

"Oh. Erm, yes. There's Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, of course, but they-"

He was about to say that they didn't really count -which was the complete and honest truth for once- but Mary interrupted him.

"Good," she said. "Petunia and Vernon. That's good. And their last names? Do you have a telephone number or an address?"

"Ah, Dursley. They live at number four Privet Drive." Harry made a face. Snape would kill him for that one for sure. "That's in Surrey."

"Well done, Harry dear." Nurse Mary got to her feet. "This is some important information for us to know. I'm going to leave you to put it into the computer, but once your father gets out of Emergency someone will call for you. That okay?"

"Oh. Yeah…okay."

"I know this must be difficult for you." She touched his shoulder again, in a light caress. "The first few hours post-surgery are the most critical. But do try to get some sleep, you can use the waiting room upstairs, if you'd like. That way they'll be here for you before you know it."

Harry watched her back disappear from the room. Difficult didn't nearly cover it all. It felt as though his life had just turned upside down.


	6. Catch and Release

He slept eventually. Sometime after midnight, Harry curled himself up on the floor and used his torn Hogwarts jumper for a pillow. It wasn't the best place to sleep, but he was exhausted and he didn't dare move from the spot where Nurse Mary had found him in case she came back and he wasn't there.

He dreamt of Death Eaters and Bellatrix and Remus and then he dreamt of wailing sirens and blinking red-and-blue lights.

Someone did wake him before soon, but it wasn't Nurse Mary.

"Harry Evans?"

Harry startled awake and looked up. There was a short, elderly woman in front of him, in light blue trousers and a white coat. Behind her, morning dew made tiny droplets on the large windows. Harry quickly rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Yes?"

"I'm Dr. Anand," the woman said. "I'm the one who operated on your father."

"Really?" Harry hurried to his feet. "How is he? Can I see him now?"

The doctor hummed non-committedly and sat down in a chair beside Harry. She had bloodshot eyes and lines of wear on her face. She broke with Harry's mental image of what a doctor should be like as she looked just like any other person. She also seemed to be a bit puzzled.

"I have some questions for you, Harry," Anand said. "Something I hope might help us treat him."

More questions? Harry tried to conceal his disapproval and failed. He dropped down in to a chair of his own.

"Right."

Anand appeared to deliberate her words for a moment. "The record from the Emergency Central states that the injury was from an attack," she said. "But that doesn't seem to fit with what the patient presented when he came to us. Can you tell me more about what happened?"

"I-" Harry tried to think quickly, he really did, but his head felt fuzzy and he didn't really know what had gone wrong and then there was the International Statue of Secrecy to think about, not to mention the Death Eaters and the Aurors. "I didn't really see what happened," he said. "I don't know. I found him there and he was on the ground and there was all this blood and then he tried to talk to me, but he couldn't…"

He rubbed his forehead. It seemed he didn't have to act to play the part of Snape's concerned relative. This whole mess was all a bit too much for him. "What do you mean 'it doesn't fit'?" he asked. "Is he even alive? No one tells me anything…"

The doctor hummed. "The injury is…it is unusual," she said. "That is the best way to describe it, I suppose."

"How so?"

"I do not know a single thing of this world that could have created such a…rather peculiar pattern." Anand scratched her grey-streaked hair. "I have never seen another wound quite like it. Neither has anyone else on my team. Your father also appears to have had other…strange mishaps, judging from a few scars we observed. What does he do for a living?"

"Oh."

The doctor was approaching dangerous territory. Harry knew he had to divert her attention somehow, because surely, those injuries of Snape's were magical. But what to say? An image of Voldemort bent over an ill-favoured Death Eater came unbidden to his mind, but he pushed it away quickly. Although lies should generally be kept as close to the truth as possible, 'spying on insane overlords' wouldn't go over well in the muggle world.

Harry decided it was best to translate Snape's primary occupation instead, even if it was decidedly less perilous.

"He- he is a teacher," he stuttered, watching his shoes, which were worn and grimy with Cokeworth mud. "He teaches…chemistry. I don't know much about it, it isn't really my favourite subject."

"That's okay," the doctor said mildly. "Chemistry, hm? It might be a lead, but I don't know all that much about it either to be honest. I'll have someone look into it." She frowned at him. "But we also observed a rather…odd tattoo…"

"Odd?" Harry felt as though she had drenched him with a bucket of cold water. His voice shook slightly. "How so?"

"It doesn't seem to be made of regular ink." Anand watched his expression carefully. "And it seems…infected or irritated somehow."

"Oh, that." Harry couldn't quite meet her eyes. "It's…it's just something he got when he was younger," he managed to stutter. "I don't think he's very proud of it anymore, it's been causing him a bit of…bother…"

She watched patiently as Harry fiddled with the hem of his shirt. "Does your father have any hobbies?" she asked. "Something that might help us explain the peculiarities we observed? We find that if this was an attack, it was a very serious and brutal one. The offender ought to be caught quickly."

Harry frowned. Hobbies? Snape? That was very doubtful. Unless you counted the harassing of Gryffindor students.

"No, he works at a boarding school."

"You sure?" Dr. Anand smiled gently. "Does he secretly participate in faqir practices? Volcano climbing? No obscure martial arts?"

Despite everything, Harry twitched a small smile of his own. He didn't know much about Snape, but judging from the look of his house, he was just as much a bookworm as Hermione.

"Definitely not."

"I thought as much." Anand gave a soft chuckle. "But you never know." She made as though to get up.

"Wait!" Harry grasped her arm, afraid she would disappear just as Nurse Mary had. "How is he doing? When will I see him?"

"You're here all alone, aren't you?" The doctor lifted a watch that hung off her coat and hummed to herself. "Okay, I'll give you five minutes," she said. "I'm not sure he's awake yet, but since…" She stood and gave Harry an inscrutable look. "Well then, come along."

Harry didn't need to be asked twice. Anand then lead him through many halls and staircases, past busy nurses and crying children. She flicked a key card over a small panel next to a double door with 'Intensive Care' written in bold letters and indicated for Harry to pass through.

"Bed thirteen," she told a male nurse who sat behind a computer desk. "This is his boy."

"Oh, all right." The nurse nodded. He was younger than Nurse Mary, taller than Harry, and had dirty-blond hair in a tidy pony-tail. "Hello, Harry," he said. "You're in luck today."

"I'm in luck?" Harry watched the new nurse in confusion. It seemed he was somehow famous among the hospital staff. Had the rumours of Snape's mystical injury already spread? There was a lot of people in this ward and most of them seemed to be doctors or nurses. Another horrible thought struck him then: had Dr. Anand reported the feigned attack to the police?

Harry felt his hands go clammy with the realisation that they had to get out of there quickly.

Oblivious to his predicament, the nurse merely smiled and got to his feet. "I'll let you see for yourself," he said. "But try to remember that your dad likely feels a tad out of it right now. He might be confused and maybe a little frightened. He suffered respiratory arrest on the way in so I don't think he will be able to speak much yet."

"He's alive then?" A strange sensation kindled in Harry's chest, mixing with the urgency of the situation. He hated delivering only lies to all these kind and helpful people and he wasn't very good at it either. He longed to leave matters into another wizard's hands, even if they were only Snape's.

The nurse only smiled and made him scrub his hands and wear a white papery suit over his clothes.

"Be brave." He squeezed Harry's shoulder and lead him down a long hall where flimsy-looking curtains separated the patient's beds. He gently pried one of them aside, revealing a confusing matrix of equipment behind it, with complex dials and plastic tubes going out of them and a digital screen with number on that made a soft beeping sound every so often.

He proceeded to check on the machines and did something to the beeping one that turned the volume off.

Snape lay on the bed and his dark eyes followed the nurse's every move mistrustfully.

The relief was crushing, yet Harry found himself frozen to the spot in the corridor. He wasn't really supposed to feel this way, was he? Snape had held him prisoner against his will. He was a Death Eater -or at least a murderer. One that just so happened to find himself in a sticky situation.

But then again, Snape had killed Bellatrix for him. During his long stay in the reception, Harry had been dealt plenty of time to think. And he had slowly come to the conclusion that Snape had probably saved his life by telling him to hide in that ditch back in Cokeworth. He had seen the other Death Eater pass him by in hot pursuit. McGonagall's words in St. Mungo's haunted him as well. If he had managed to see through Voldemort's sham, then maybe -likely- things might have been different…

In any case, it was fast becoming obvious that Snape hadn't wanted this and seeing him in this way felt suddenly much too personal. Harry didn't really know what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't this.

"You can talk to him," the nurse said softly. "But try not to touch the equipment. We would like to keep things sterile."

He left with another pat to his shoulder and Harry shuffled forward awkwardly. Sometime between the nurse leaving and his approach, Snape had closed his eyes. His breathing was shallow and his brows furrowed. Up close, he looked more unwell than he had earlier in the park, when Harry had thought he couldn't possibly look much worse.

The machine that had made the beeping sound was connected to his upper body through an assortment of wires. A pale, bare shoulder was peeking out beneath the blanket, and Harry made sure to keep his gaze firmly fixed on the lock of greasy black hair that lay across the pillow. He was too close for comfort and right then, it was the only part of Snape that he could recognise.

Snape's hand shot out and grasped his arm.

Harry flinched from the surprise, but Snape's grip went limp quickly and fell away. He looked up at Harry with a frown that suggested he didn't quite trust his own senses.

"Pot…?"

"Yes." Harry gave an awkward nod. "It's me, it's…Potter. Do you remember what happened?

Snape's eyes flicked back and forth between Harry's and for a brief moment, something flashed across his features that made Harry uneasy. Snape raised his hand again –more tentative this time– to touch the plastic tube that went into his nose.

"Wha-?"

"Erm, you're in a hospital," said Harry, remembering the nurse's words. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "A muggle one…you should probably leave that alone." He took an uncertain step forward. "They won't like it if you take it out."

Snape looked up at him again and blinked. He didn't seem entirely lucid.

"Do you –er– want me to get you anything?" asked Harry, thinking it was awful with Snape being so very unlike himself in this out-of-control situation.

"A Scotch," breathed Snape, "would be welcome…right now." He then seemed to think better of it. "My…coat?"

"Oh, err, I don't know." Harry looked around the small compartment, noticing that the nurse had drawn the curtains shut behind him. "I don't think it's here," he said hesitantly, trying to recall what had happened to Bellatrix' wand. "We were in that park, you see. Erm, and you were…bleeding and I had to ask a muggle for help and then an ambulance came, but I wasn't allowed to go with you."

Harry stopped, wondering how much of his tale Snape was able to absorb. He had completely forgotten about the wand, which would be a disaster if anyone found it and were able to recognise what it was and to whom it had belonged.

"Erm, so then," he continued, when Snape remained silent, "I had to wait in the reception area. But I don't know what became of it...the wand, I mean. Where exactly did you apparate us?"

But Snape had suddenly clenched his eyes shut and was hissing through his teeth. Harry recoiled slightly, startled.

"Snape?" he said sharply. "What's wrong?"

Snape shook his head in apparent frustration. He grasped Harry's shirt again, more firmly this time. "Potter," he croaked, " _leave_."

"What?" Harry frowned. So Snape was suddenly sending him away now? To preserve his dignity or some other stupid reason? Didn't he realise just how precarious their situation was? "No," he said angrily. "I don't know when they'll let me back in and that doctor is definitely too suspicious. We have to get out of here before-"

"Potter," growled Snape, rough and deep. He twisted the fabric of Harry's shirt. "Leave now…before the Death Eaters arrive."

Harry ripped Snape's hand away from him and it thumped back down on the bed. "No," he repeated, a little louder than he had intended. "I don't know who you think I am, but I'm not just going to leave you behind."

He glared hard at Snape. He knew very well what the man thought of him, but somehow, that didn't really matter like it had before. And no matter how badly Harry had previously thought of Snape, those feelings were no longer present in his heart at that time.

"If I left you here and you died…" He trailed off, knowing he wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

Snape stared back with an unreadable expression on his face until a prickling sensation at the back of his neck told Harry that someone were watching them.

"Harry?" Harry spun his head around to see that the male nurse from before had peeked through the curtains and was watching the panel above Snape's bed. "It's time to let your father rest a bit now, all right?"

Harry scowled at the nurse, and then some more at Snape for good measure, until the nurse walked in to turn him by the shoulder and lead him out.

Where he had previously been relieved to learn that Snape was alive, Harry now felt overwhelming disappointment. Somehow, he had thought that once they reunited, things would go back to normal, but it hadn't. Snape didn't look well in the slightest and Harry was being chucked straight back out, before he could even begin to explain how far down on the skids they were.

"What happens now?" he asked the nurse, hoping he would be more forthcoming than Dr. Anand. The need to get away from the muggle hospital felt more pressing now than ever.

"We repaired the internal damage," he said mildly, while guiding Harry firmly back through the corridor towards the desk at the end. "But there is still a chance that he will need more surgery. He's going down for an X-ray in a short while. Someone will come after you once we know more."

More waiting then. Harry huffed a breath.

"Have you eaten anything yet?" The nurse looked at him worriedly. "You realise that you can get food from the cafeteria? Just state your father's name and explain that your family hasn't arrived yet."

"My _family_?"

Oh… _oh._ Harry felt his face drain of all colour, remembering the moment of weakness where he had told Mary-the-Nurse about the Dursleys.

"Will they come? _Here_?"

"Why, of course." The new nurse frowned. "You realise that your father will probably be in hospital for some time yet? He has gone through major surgery and must recover. You need someplace to live in between, you know." He gave Harry's shoulder a friendly shake. "But don't you worry about that. The Childcare Services will help you out."

Childcare Services? First the doctor's veiled threats about the police, then Snape going on about the Death Eaters, and now… Harry couldn't even feel his extremities anymore. They had all gone completely numb. Things were heading downhill at an alarming pace.

"Wait, are you saying that Nurse Mary has called Aunt Petunia?" He frantically tried to get a glimpse at the computer screen that stood on the desk, but the angle wasn't right. "What do you mean by _Childcare Services_?"

The new nurse seemed to take note of his dread, but he had, of course, not the faintest clue about the reason behind it. "Yes, if she's your closest living relative," he said, giving him a shrewd look. "I assume you don't know her very well, isn't that why you're anxious?" He smiled gently. "I wouldn't worry about that. It's what the 'service' is there for. They'll help you find the best possible solution."

Harry could only watch him in horror.

"You can come back later, you know." The nurse smiled again, in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring, but only threatened to send Harry into another fit of panic. "Our visiting hours are between three and six."


	7. Unforgiveable

Harry spent most of that day asleep and it wasn't even intentional.

After his visit with Snape, he picked his way back to the reception area in the hope of finding a lost-and-found box or something similar that could contain Snape's clothes –and thereby Bellatrix' wand– but he never got that far.

Next to the coffee-bar, notepad and pencil in hand, stood a uniformed man, the unmistakeable helmet of a bobby beneath his arm.

Harry didn't even dare stay to figure out why he was there. He did the only sensible thing he could think of. He turned tail, ran back the way he had come from and found himself a cupboard.

It was a broom closet, to be exact. It smelled of detergents and dust and was cramped full of toilet paper and tissues. Harry didn't care, he had a special relationship with cupboards and the darkness was familiar. He found a sack of unused mops by feel and made himself a nice nest out of it, intent on waiting the bobby out.

But he must have miscalculated just how bone-tired he was, because there he stayed until an angry growl form his stomach woke him up several hours later.

He hadn't eaten since Snape offered him that tin of soup back in Cokeworth and it felt as though a lifetime had passed since then. He glanced at his wristwatch –a hand-me-down from Dudley, which lit up when you pressed a small button on the side. He had overslept. The nurse had said that visiting hours started at three and it was nearly four o'clock.

An ocean of time had passed since he last saw Snape. Harry hadn't even started to fill him in on all the lies he'd woven. What if the man started to spin tales of his own? What if the bothersome nurses had decided to move him? What if he'd been sent to surgery again? Anything could have happened between then and now.

Harry eased the door open and braved a peek outside. A family of three –a father with his sons– were outside and they gave him long looks as he carefully extracted himself from the closet. Harry snuck up close and pretended to belong to their company, relieved when it became evident that they were visiting someone in Intensive Care as well. The father, a tall man with blond hair rang a doorbell just beside the key card panel that Dr. Anand had used earlier and the door opened automatically.

The long room with beds and curtains looked just the same as it had previously in the day, only busier. There were several visitors there and a new nurse with dyed bright red hair behind the computer desk. Harry spotted Nurse Mary next to the bed of a new patient a little way down the hall.

As the family he'd followed drifted off, he approached the nurse behind the desk. He had to find the wand before someone else did and preferably get rid of it and it seemed safer to ask a new someone rather than Nurse Mary. If she saw him, it would probably remind her of the commitment to get hold of Aunt Petunia.

"Hi," he said, fingering the hem of his jumper. "I'm Harry. I'm…Severus' son…"

"Hello, Harry," The unfamiliar nurse smiled, revealing large, white teeth and creases around the eyes. "Your daddy is in bed thirteen," she said kindly, "that's the sixth one on your right."

Harry nodded, secretly relieved to learn that Snape was still there. "Yeah, I know," he said. "I was just wondering… I need to get his things. Do you know where I can find them? He asked for them, you see." He looked around haphazardly. "I figured I could take them."

"Oh, right. Well, we store personal belongings here usually." She turned around to one of the cabinets that stood against the wall. "Severus…Evans, right? What are you looking for, exactly?"

A magical wooden stick would have been great. Preferably one in working order, but beggars can't be choosers.

"Yeah, it's…just some clothes, I think. A raincoat."

The nurse pulled out a sealed plastic bag from the cupboard along with a small booklet. She put them on the desk. "Bit too sunny for that, isn't it?" She winked at him. "Sign here, will you?"

"Right. I wouldn't know..." Harry signed with the pen she offered, using his mother's maiden name. The name of the hospital was printed on the book's pages, inspiring a new question. "Where are we?" he asked her. "What city, I mean. There has been so much going on lately that I'm not quite…"

"Why, we're in London, of course!" She laughed, bright and clear. "Westminster Bridge, to be exact. How can you have missed that?"

"Oh. Er, okay. Thanks." He turned his back on her, cheeks warming, certain to have once again made it to the top of the staff-room gossip list. Blasted Snape and his apparition accidents. If they were still in London, it meant that Surrey was only a couple hour's drive away.

But at least he had obtained what he wanted. Taking a surreptitious look around, Harry opened the bag and extracted Snape's raincoat. He dug around in the deep pockets, heart sinking when there was no sign of the wand. It must still be in that park.

But there was a lot of other stuff in there. Keys, and vials and glass flagons of different colours, chewing gum, and galleons and pounds, and three handy flick knifes. There were even a couple of chocolate frogs and an empty wrapping, a box of Bryant and May's matches, and an unpaid electricity bill with a due date in –Harry squinted at the blurry letters– nineteen seventy-three.

He carefully picked out one of the unlabelled vials and shook it lightly. There was a potion inside. Maybe the one Snape had been brewing the other night?

Feeling a little lighter, he hurried down the hall to the curtains where Snape had been earlier, clutching the bag tightly.

Snape was on the bed, apparently asleep. He looked the same as before, pale and drawn, and the wires and tubes were still in place.

"Hi," mumbled Harry and Snape's eyes snapped open. They were weary and glassy, but he quickly shifted himself a little higher on the pillow.

"Potter?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. How are you feeling? You look…"

What had he been meaning to say, exactly? That Snape seemed a little worse for wear with that tube sticking out of his nose? That he was so very different from his normally poised self that Harry didn't know up from down anymore? That would surely go down well.

"You're…still here," said Snape hoarsely. He frowned in a way that could just as easily have been suspicion as confusion.

"Yeah, I-" He awkwardly held out Snape's clothes. "I found your coat. It isn't there."

"What?" Snape struggled to get an elbow beneath him and glanced at the bag.

"The wand," whispered Harry. He came closer, reassured that he could finally be of use. "It must still be in that park. But your other things are there. You know, all that…stuff you made, back in Cokeworth."

The expression on Snape's face was of such relief, that there was no mistaking it this time. "Is there…a blue one?" he rasped, trying to lean forward.

"Sure." Harry rummaged around in the pocket, extracted one of the blue vials, and gave it to him. "What is it for?" he asked, hoping it was some sort of healing potion.

But Snape just closed his eyes and drank the entire bottle. When he was done, his head fell back against the pillow and he covered his eyes with his arm for a moment.

Then he sat up. Bandages and all.

"Snape?" Harry took a step back, alarmed. "What?"

"The transparent one." Some of the fog seemed to have lifted form Snape's eyes. He started to examine the wires that stuck to his chest and a needle that went into a vein on his hand with mild interest. "Quickly now."

Harry produced the flagon Snape wanted and hurriedly turned around when the man started to remove the dressings from his abdomen.

"What do you think you're doing?" he whispered, glaring at the flimsy curtain that faced the corridor. "You just had surgery and I really don't think you should take those off!" He risked a quick peek over his shoulder to see that Snape was applying a potion to himself that covered the room in green smoke.

Another healing potion maybe? Harry scrambled to make sure the curtains were tightly shut. He could do nothing about the strong, herbaceous smell. "They might come back any minute," he said urgently, wishing Snape wouldn't be so agonisingly slow. "We have to get out of here!"

"Potter, why are you still here?"

The calm, deliberately unfazed tone grated on Harry's nerves. Snape was suspicious of him. Harry could almost feel his intense gaze at the back of his head.

" _Still here_?" he hissed, aggravated. Why did the bastard always have to be so nasty? Even at death's door, he was still sniping and growling. One would rather think that Harry had proven his trustworthiness by now, not that Snape deserved it. "I barely had any time to talk to you and then I had to wait for ages and there was a blasted bobby there and I had to hide in a cupboard! When, exactly, do you think I should have left?"

"I realise how much you must enjoy seeing me get my due," said Snape evenly, "but there has to be a reason for you being here other than that. You could have been over the hills by now."

"They didn't tell me _anything_ ," said Harry, whipping around to glare at Snape, who had put trousers on and was sitting on the edge of the bed.

But why _was_ he there, really? It wasn't honestly a conscious choice of his to stay, was it? It had just sort of happened, and then it had been too late for him to turn back.

Hadn't it?

"I don't _enjoy_ any of this," he insisted. "I thought that would be obvious! They asked me all kinds of questions and I didn't know if you would be-"

He broke off suddenly. The thought that he hadn't known whether Snape would live or die reminded him of Nurse Mary and the suspicious doctor.

"Oh, you should probably know," he said, making Snape raise his eyebrows. "You go by Severus Evans here. I told them I was your son."

"What on Earth did you do that for?" Snape's face went another shade of pale, which was quite a feat.

"Well…" Harry felt his ears heat a little. "You could say it was –erm– convenient, at the time." He frowned, feeling that out of the two, he shouldn't be the one that had to defend his actions. "I was under a lot of stress," he added. "They weren't very optimistic regarding your _condition_."

Snape gave him a look he couldn't quite place, but the reminder of Nurse Mary had sent Harry's brain jogging.

"Are you allergic to anything?" he blurted.

Snape blinked. "Only to your foolhardiness," he said faintly. "What else did you tell these people?"

Harry sighed. At least he hadn't inadvertently poisoned Snape. And their current situation was something of an improvement, even if it meant the man was back to his snippy old self – or as close as he could probably get form a hospital bed.

"We have to leave, you know," he said, glancing out through the gap in the curtains. "They were suspicious of your…tattoo. And one of them mentioned the Childcare Services. I'd rather not-"

He broke off with a grimace. Snape was extracting the plastic tube from his nose and it made Harry's eyes water. It looked extremely uncomfortable.

"Er- Snape? Are you sure that you should just…?"

The man was on his feet all of a sudden and he started to remove the disks with wires that attached his chest to the beeping machine. He was swaying a little and Harry watched with equal amounts of relief and trepidation. Snape looked decidedly unimpressive without a shirt on. He was deathly pale and not in the best of shape, but thanks to the smoky green potion, the injury now appeared several days old. After a quick look outside in the hall, Harry hurried to his side.

"Here." He pulled a blood-stained, almost unrecognisable piece of cloth form the bag unapologetically. Snape wrinkled his nose, but took it without comment.

"Nurse Mary call my Aunt Petunia," said Harry while giving Snape space to put his shirt back on. "I've no idea why they think it's such a great idea, but they're saying I have to stay with her, or if she won't take me, that I have to go with Childcare-"

Snape grasped his arm suddenly, indicating with a finger to his lips that they should be silent.

There were footsteps in the corridor, approaching their compartment fast. Harry whirled around just in time to see the curtains separate.

"Mr. Evans? What is-?" The young nurse with the bright red hair peeked inside, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of Snape. For a moment, they all stood there in stunned silence. Then she stormed in like a hurricane.

"Hey! No, no, no!" She waved her arms at Snape. "You can't get up, Mr. Evans! How did you-? You have to lie back down, the sutures! They'll-"

Snape batted her hands away. He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, which happened to be conveniently nearby. Harry staggered a little. The amount of weight Snape put on him indicated it was a much-needed support.

"We are not staying," said Snape grumpily, straightening to his full height by pressing Harry down towards the floor. "I thank you for your…assistance, but as you can see, it is no longer needed."

He gave Harry a nudge, as though he stood in his way.

"Oh no, you're not!" The nurse, apparently, saw through the sham with ease. She grasped Snape's elbow and tugged on a thin cord that hung from the ceiling above the bed. "You are under the influence of medications. You are not going anywhere in this state, you'll end up right back in Emergency." She wrestled Snape's hold off Harry's shoulder and pushed him firmly towards the bed.

It would have been very satisfying, in any other context, to see Snape manhandled in this way by a young woman that could easily have been his student. But Harry was not amused.

"Wait," he said desperately, "you can't keep him here against his will, can you? He's an adult, you can't just-"

The nurse cut past him. "He has enough morphine in him to knock out a small horse." She had Snape backed up against the bed and was tugging the cord again, more insistently this time. "He might think he's fine, but he's a danger to himself in this state. If he leaves now, I can guarantee you that the sutures will rupture."

Snape did not comment, but he had a look of furious concentration on his face and Harry realised with a start that he was attempting to perform magic on the nurse. Knowing his ways, it would more likely than not be an unforgiveable and what would that do to his already muddied track record?

But Snape was clearly struggling and before what was surely an _imperio_ could seemingly take hold, a commotion in the corridor made them all turn their heads.

"The boy is loopy, I tell you! The things he gets up to- You have no idea! The amount of trouble we've had with him is too monumental for words, and that school of his! They can't even-"

The voice was unmistakable. Harry's eyes cut towards Snape's as he attempted to warn him without making sound. But he didn't seem to have noticed.

"Now, now, Mr. Dursley," said another voice, "I'm sure we can clear this all up. His father is awake now and can explain. This is a matter of formalities, that's all. See here now?"

The curtains were drawn aside once more and Uncle Vernon stood there together with a short, bald man in a suit. They took in the silent struggle between Snape and the nurse. Uncle Vernon looked pissed-off, as usual, but the bald man seemed flabbergasted.

The nurse backed off Snape a little and straightened, the relief apparent in her eyes.

"You're this gentleman's brother then?" she asked Uncle Vernon while maintaining a secure grip on Snape's shoulder.

Uncle Vernon watched Snape's greasy hair and Snape watched Uncle Vernon's twitchy moustache, each with matching expressions of horror on their faces.

Uncle Vernon was the first to recover. "Good God, n-"

"Yes!" interrupted Harry quickly. He gave Uncle Vernon a meaningful look, mouthing the word 'magic' while trying to remain unnoticed by the man in a suit.

Uncle Vernon recoiled.

"You have great timing," the nurse said, missing their silent interaction. "Your brother has expressed an explicit desire to leave this hospital." She watched Vernon sharply. "I must impress on you the risk that entails. His condition is far from stable and he is on medications that might reduce his abilities to make sound decisions. I implore you to persuade him into staying."

"Marlene, you called?" Adding to the madness, Dr. Anand's head suddenly appeared behind the bald man who was surely from the Childcare Services. "What's going on here then?" She raised a single eyebrow when seeing Snape awake and fully dressed.

"Indeed I called." The nurse –Marlene– huffed, gentling her voice. "Mr. Evans wants to go home. I have told him why he can't, but maybe a shot of Diazepam is in order?" She nodded at Uncle Vernon. "This is his brother."

Dr. Anand looked over at Vernon and Harry held his breath.

"Erm…" Uncle Vernon's face was a light shade of red and his mouth worked furiously behind the moustache. It was clear that he'd been shanghaied and wanted no part of this.

"Will you let him go if my uncle agrees?" Harry looked at Dr. Anand, who frowned at him. Instead of replying, she walked over to Snape's side.

"Mr. Evans, can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?" she asked, moving four in front of Snape's face.

Snape squinted at her hand. "Three," he said with conviction. Harry's heart sank.

Anand picked up Snape's hand and pressed her fingers into his pulse point, counting the time with her little watch. "As I'm sure Marlene has told you," she said to Vernon, "we would like to keep him, at least for another week-"

"That is unacceptable," said Snape, just as Harry said, "A _week_?"

Dr. Anand ignored them both. "But if he insists and you agree, there isn't much we can do about it." She glanced at Snape. "We cannot force treatment on anyone and neither do we waste our time by trying."

Uncle Vernon merely nodded, red-faced and obviously furious. Luckily, the others in the room seemed to interpret this as indignation on Snape's behalf. Marlene-the-nurse gave her patient a dark look.

"Be it on your own head, Mr. Evans," she told Snape. "Deepika?"

"Yes, yes." Dr. Anand waved her off. "I'm sure Mr…?" She watched the bald man who stated that his name was 'Mr. Wilson from Childcare'. "I'm sure Mr. Wilson can take it from here." She turned to Snape again as Marlene stalked off.

"I will give you a prescription for Percocet and Celebrex," she said with practised routine. "Please make sure to follow the instructions for use as they might cause liver problems if taken in excess." She released his hand. "You appear much better than you did before, but there really shouldn't be any reason for that. You must withhold physical exertion for now. I have no desire to see you here again."

Neither had Harry, but with those simple words, things were apparently settled. The man form Childcare Service, Mr. Wilson, insisted on a home-call to Harry's benefit, which made Uncle Vernon's face go a rather disturbing shade of lilac, but apart from that everything went unnervingly easy. Papers were signed, words of warning were spoken and they were finally free.

Not half an hour later, Harry and Snape found themselves in the backseat of Uncle Vernon's Vauxhall Vectra estate.

Vernon drove quickly and aggressively and neither of them spoke a word. By the time they reached Magnolia Crescent, Snape's face had taken on a grey tint and he was gripping the textile cover of the passenger seat as though his life depended on it. He had already taken two more shots of the blue potion.

It was obvious that they had to rely on Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's hospitality for the night. When Vernon pulled up at number four Privet Drive, Harry was quick to get out of the car to help Snape on the other side.

But his uncle had other ideas. Before Harry could cross around the bonnet, he stormed out of the driver's seat and grasped him by the arm.

"Boy!" he roared, making Harry's ears ring. "What have you done?"

"Wh-?" Harry tried to wrench away, but Uncle Vernon was too strong.

"They come to our _home_ , threatening us with the police and the Childcare Services and goddamn knows what else!" He shook Harry until his teeth clattered. "What have you _done_?"

"I haven't done _anything_ ," said Harry furiously. His arm felt like it was being wrenched from its socket and he didn't enjoy being trampled on by someone who only cared about upholding appearances. "There was an _accident._ He nearly _died_. We ended up in the hospital and they asked if I had relatives and I said you. I realise that was a mistake, but they didn't let me explain that you don't want anything to do with me, they-"

"Shut up!" Uncle Vernon's face was a dark purple. He pressed Harry up against the car. "You've done it this time," he said, voice dangerously low. "You've really done it. The only reason I haven't thrown you out the window along the A3 it that they're coming back to check on you, but don't expect me or your aunt to take any of this in good grace." He underlined each sentence with a rough push. "As far as I'm concerned I'm through with you, and when they're satisfied you're leaving my property and never coming back. Is that clear?"

Harry gritted his teeth in defiance, but it was apparently a wrong move. Uncle Vernon wasn't usually a physical man, but this time, Harry must have misjudged the amount of pressure he was under.

His head whipped to the side when Vernon smacked his cheek with the flat of his palm.

"Is. That. Clear?"

His face burned, but Harry was set on not showing weakness. "Crystal," he said, staring hard off to the middle distance.

Snape was suddenly standing next to Uncle Vernon, giving his fisted hands a puzzled frown. "Mr. Dursley," he said gruffly, "this isn't Potter's fault, it is mine. And I apologise for the inconvenience I seem to have caused you. It was not intentional."

Hearing Snape beg Uncle Vernon's pardon was so odd that Harry nearly laughed. But even stranger than that was the complete surprise of Snape actually standing up for him. He couldn't help but stare between the two adults with wide eyes.

Uncle Vernon's gaze flicked at Snape uneasily.

"This is the 'black' person you've been waxing lyrical about?" he asked Harry.

Snape's lips thinned.

"No," said Harry quickly. "This is my…erm…teacher, Sev-"

"My name is Horace Slughorn," interrupted Snape, making Harry raise his brows in confusion. "It has been…pleasant meeting you, Mr. Dursley. And I thank you sincerely for the ride, but I am afraid Potter and I have to leave now." He tugged on Harry's sleeve and gave him a look that promised death and damnation.

It was all so baffling that Harry merely watched him, trapped as he was by Uncle Vernon's ham-sized fists. Why would Snape state a false name, one that seemed completely random and unfamiliar? And why would he go from defending Harry to looking murderous in less than two seconds flat? He had done nothing –at least nothing very recently– to provoke such anger and it surely couldn't be about the mention of Sirius.

Was this Snapes' way of expressing apprehension? Harry watched him closely. Perhaps even fear?

The thought was unsettling, even more so as Harry's suspicions were confirmed the moment the door opened, revealing a furious Aunt Petunia.

Snape backtracked several steps.

"Get in here," she hissed, "Vernon, _dear_ , the whole street can hear you! Get the freakish boy inside before-" She froze, eyes caught on Snape. " _You_?"

Snape stood straight as a board, his face once again completely blank. "Petunia," he said flatly.

Harry had never before considered the idea that Snape could be insecure about something, but now he was starting to second-guess that opinion. There was a resigned, hollow look on his face that made him appear a thousand years older in just an instant.

Or maybe it had always been there?

It was obvious that Snape and Aunt Petunia knew each other, just as Snape had known Harry's mother. The pensieve, Snape's muggle neighbourhood, Harry's aunt…it was all coming together now and it was clear that this wasn't a happy reunion.

"You dare come on my doorstep," whispered Aunt Petunia, "after what you did to her? You vile- absolute- _freak_!"

For a second, Harry thought she was addressing him, but her hard gaze was locked on Snape, alight with a hatred he had never known her capable of. Snape merely stared at her without offering a single word in his defence. His face was a frozen mask.

"Wait," said Harry as Aunt Petunia's words sunk in. "What was that? What did he do?"

"He was in that _gang_ ," spat Petunia relentlessly, while marching out towards Harry. "That band of louts that killed Lily – _your_ kind, the _evil_ ones. The old man in that ridiculous bathrobe told me he was the tattler." She shoved her way past a dumbstruck Uncle Vernon and grasped Harry by the wrist. "I knew, of course. I knew all along. He was always so wicked and spiteful." She scoffed. "You're not welcome in my house," she said, punctuating her statement by jabbing a sharp finger at Snape.

Harry watched Snape, feeling the blood drain from his face. "What is she talking about?" he asked shakily. "Snape?"

Snape's Addam's apple bobbed jerkily as he swallowed and Harry mimicked the movement, trying to breath around the lump in his throat.

"The Dark Lord- I-" Snape took a deep breath and squared his shoulders as though bracing for a strike. "It was I," he said, meeting Harry's gaze. "I was the Death Eater that told the Dark Lord about the prophecy." He clenched his fists at his sides compulsively. "The prophecy that says you're the one that must defeat him. I overheard Professor Trelawney giving it to the Headmaster. It was only later that I realised that it meant _her_ –that it meant…you."

Harry allowed himself to be dragged inside the house by Aunt Petunia, leaving Snape behind on the street. He could do nothing else because the world had once again flipped on its axis.

He had been so close that he couldn't believe it. In his struggle to understand and forgive human nature, he had been ready to overlook Snape's contemptuousness, his snide remarks, and his occasional cruelty. After all that had happened, he had started to see that Snape was just a man. That he made mistakes and was injured, that he did some things that were good and some things that were bad, and that bad things happened to him as well. He had even felt sorry for him, and although he'd had little time to think it through, he had been on the verge of forgiving him for having known his mother, unjust as that was when Harry never would.

But that he had marked Harry's parents for death? Surely, that was inexcusable.


	8. A Gun and Two Bloody Noses

Betrayal. There was no other way to describe the look in Potter's eyes when he learned the truth. Blasted, sodding horror of a boy. It wasn't what Severus had expected at all. He had anticipated something more manageable, something simpler. Hatred, first and foremost.

It would have been easier to deal with. He was used to that, at least. But if Potter felt somehow betrayed? Severus wasn't even sure what that would mean. He certainly had not earned the boy's trust on the bumpy road between Spinner's End and Hyde Park's Italian Gardens.

Speaking of which, what a complete and utter disaster of a day.

"Your real name is Snape then?"

Severus tore his gaze away from the house. The uncle, Dursley, still stood by the car, regarding him with wary interest.

"You know each other?" He tilted his head. "How…?"

Severus swallowed. When on the topic of gut-wrenching ordeals, seeing Lily's sister again certainly came out near the top. He hadn't even been able to get around Potter's question about the prophecy with her watching him like that.

"We grew up together," he said, fighting a wave of dizziness. It was dark out now, not pitch dark, but enough that he had some problems seeing Dursley's features properly. "Has she never mentioned me?"

Dursley shook his head. "She doesn't speak of-" He waved a hand around before crossing meaty arms in front of his chest. "You were friends?" He frowned, sending Severus an assessing and somewhat doubtful look. "Were you ever –you know?"

"Nothing of that kind." Severus gave a headshake, deliberate, but slow to keep the world from tilting on its axis. "I was a friend…of Lily's."

The wrinkles on Dursley's forehead smoothed marginally. "Lily never mentioned you either," he said, easily, smoothly, as though he had no idea whatsoever about the power of those words. And he probably didn't. How strange to think of Lily this way, that this was her family. She must have met Dursley along with Petunia quite often, at birthdays, weddings, funerals…

Severus looked away. "I see."

"But I assume you went to freak school together."

Severus nodded jerkily. Dursley shifted his feet and glanced across the lawn, where the light from the windows made flickering shadows. They stood there in awkward silence for a while. Severus' stomached throbbed dully. It felt like he had fought a hippogriff and lost.

"There are people out there looking for the boy," he told Dursley at last. He saved himself from having to look the man in the eye by taking a few pills from the jar that the prissy doctor had given him. "If someone calls, don't open the door. You should wait for the Headmaster. He is – you will know when it is him."

"Right." Dursley's expression indicated that letting a wizard cross his doorstep –head teacher or not– was the last thing he intended. His eyes flicked down to where Severus' stained shirt was visible through the open lapels of his coat. "If you're a _magician_ ," he said coolly, "why don't you just…hocus-pocus yourself back in order?"

"I lost my wand," said Severus absently. The muggle medicine tasted worse even than Longbottom's feeble attempts at potions and did nothing to ease his vertigo. "Potter doesn't have his either."

He had meant the last in warning, but Dursley straightened and seemed gleeful all of a sudden. "Wonderful!" He gave a vicious laugh. "That's the best news I've had all day. Serves the tiny devil right."

The display of vengefulness caught Severus off guard and it took his muddled mind a moment to digest the implications. A Harry Potter without any form of protection was just about the farthest away from 'good news' you could get in his book, speaking from a place of arduous experience. Did the uncle not know which boy he had under his roof? Was he unaware of what the Death Eaters could do? Surely, he should be.

Severus felt suddenly both tired and troubled. And it wasn't entirely due to the imminent danger. There was something not quite right with Potter's family and it brought back memories in him that were best left hidden and buried. Earlier that night he had felt the ghost of his own father's grip. The rough scrape of phantom nails. The rejection. The crushing humiliation.

"You hit him," he heard himself say, like a stranger's voice, out of the ether.

Dursley grinned. "What?"

"You hit Potter."

"I certainly did." He snorted. "And I'll do it again, mark my words. Not that it's any of your business."

But it was, wasn't it? "I am his teacher."

"If that's the truth," said Dursley with a twitch of his mustache, "then surely you know his ways. That boy never questions his own opinions, does he? Always knows what's right. He's just like his vagrant, patronising, freak of a father."

The words were so familiar, like an echo of his own thoughts, that Severus recoiled.

He was being tested, he realised with a sudden chill. Some divine entity had judged and ruled that suffering Potter and the Dark Lord was not nearly enough for the likes of him. Now he had to endure mind games from Lily's family as well. He almost expected Dumbledore to materialise out of the pristinely pruned hedge, clap him on the shoulder and say with his most spirited twinkle, 'there now, Severus my boy, taught you a good lesson, didn't I?'

But he wasn't hallucinating, at least not quite yet. The bushes remained bushes, no headmaster was in sight, and Potter's uncle clearly wasn't pulling his leg.

"I don't care about the boy," Dursley went on. "He's been a thorn in my side and a strain on poor Petunia." He glanced at Severus. "But you seem to. So why haven't you taken him on yourself?"

By all that was magical, this day seemed to grow more insane with each passing moment. Severus was at his wit's end. Could he leave Potter behind safely? Surely not. This man would not know to keep him inside, nor did he seem concerned about Dark Lords or Death Eaters. Did these muggles not understand what would happen to Potter if he were caught? A numbness crept over him along with the disturbing realisation that Petunia and Dursley might not care.

"Fine," he heard himself say. At least he thought that croak of a voice was his own, although he was certain that it was making a titanic mistake. "I'll take him then, just bring him back out." He tried to ignore the unpleasant, swooping feeling in his gut because surely, Dumbledore would not have agreed. And the last thing Potter would be inclined to do right now was probably to go with him.

But Dursley shook his head in the darkness. "Not until we're well clear of the childcare service, you don't." He scowled. "In fact, I think it's time for you to be on your way."

Severus tried to blink the fog from his eyes. Damn, the childcare, he had forgotten about that detail. He watched Dursley's expectant frown. The man was perhaps not in a very receptive state, but this particular curse just so happened to be one of Severus' specialties. Summoning all his strength, he forced all the magic could into a single spell. " _Imperio_."

The world went grey before his eyes and Durlsey's outline became hazy even as the man stepped closer until they were only feet apart. Severus felt the car's bonnet hit his hip and vaguely registered that he must have teetered to the side. He swore silently at the muggle medicine for making everything so fuzzy. It felt like having unwittingly ingested a healthy dose of befuddlement draught.

"What was that?" There was nothing in the voice to indicate that Dursley had lost control of his faculties. Severus felt his knees buckle when the feeble magic dissipated.

"I have a rifle, Snape," he heard Dursley whisper close by. "I trust you know what a bullet can do? Mm, yes you do." He nodded, seeming satisfied, and aimed a blurry finger at Severus' stained shirt. "Leave now. And if you ever come back, I'll make another nice little hole in you."

With a gut wound and no wand, even Severus could appreciate that he was not in fighting form. Truth be told, he had never been one to take the upper hand in a fistfight even on his best days. He managed to straighten himself and shook his head to dispel the image of what he would look like after a close encounter with a long-range firearm.

"Well?" Dursley squared his shoulders.

And that was how Severus did what any sensible person would have done. He backed off, out of the yard. The ghastly uncle did not take eyes off him until he reached the corner of the next building and managed to stumble into the shadow of a tall hedge. He waited there, watching Dursley lock the car with a flick of his keys and walk up to the house.

There was just enough time to hear Petunia scream and yell before the door slammed shut with a loud bang.

Silence engulfed him like cotton. Severus could hear a rhythm, an odd double-thump, and was bewildered to realise that it was his own heartbeat.

* * *

Harry had no time to process what Snape had admitted to and what the implications were.

He had never seen Aunt Petunia this beside herself. The only time that came remotely close was perhaps once, a few years back, when she thought he had been doing magic and aimed a blow at his head with a soapy frying pan. She seemed beside herself, almost incapable of speech, as she slammed the door and pulled him though the hall. Harry tried to twist away from the bony fingers that bit into his wrist, but to no avail. She only clamped down harder and even though Harry was nearly her height now, he couldn't match her livid strength.

"You've done it now." She rounded on him by the stairs, hissing out an echo of Uncle Vernon's earlier words. "This is the last time you bring disgrace on my home and on my family. To put us in this situation-" She flailed for air before showing Harry roughly down on the bottommost step. "The _police_ showed up on our door!"

"Ow." Harry rubbed his knee, where it had hit the edge of the staircase. "I didn't do it on purpose," he tried, taken aback by the violent outburst. "I had no idea they were going to-"

"You," Petunia spat, "and your vile _magic_ have been festering in this house for long enough. This ends now. Never again do I want you to bring vermin like that–" she threw out a hand towards the front door, to where Snape and Uncle Vernon were standing outside, "–to my doorstep." She visibly bristled. "That man is a _criminal_ , surely you'd know?"

" _I didn't know!_ " Harry blinked back angry tears. "Please, I _have_ to get back to school, they're looking for me, they–"

"Oh, you and your precious school. If you would only stay there and never bother us again, but no." Petunia turned her finger on Harry instead. "You just can't leave us alone, can you? You have to drag us through the dirt. The childcare! After all these years. I can't believe you would be that ungrateful."

"No," implored Harry, "you don't understand. That was an accident. Everyone thinks Voldemort has me, there was a battle and I got away from the others and they don't know where I am. You don't _understand_. This might start a war!"

"You," snarled aunt Petunia. "A teenager. You think you can start a _war_? Do not make me laugh." She sounded like laughing was the furthest from her mind. "This madness," she hissed, "this is going to stop right now, you hear? I'm not having it anymore." She advanced on him quickly and thinking she was about to slap his cheek like Uncle Vernon had just done, Harry raised his arm in defence.

But apparently she wasn't. Before he knew what had happened, Harry's elbow hit Petunia's nose with a nasty, crunching sound. She shrieked out in pain, and just then, the front door tore open and Uncle Vernon stormed inside.

Harry briefly registered the feeling of ice that slid down his spine before Uncle Vernon was upon him. He had no idea the man could even move this fast and there was no mistaking his expression of concern for being on Harry's behalf. He grasped hold of Harry's neck as quick as a snake and before Harry could even get on his feet, he was being propelled up, into the upstairs second bedroom of Dudley's.

"Have you no regard," roared Uncle Vernon, "no regard at all for the distress and pain you cause your aunt?" Spittle flew from his lips and his face was an angry purple. "You hit her, you vermin. After all that she has done for you!"

Harry didn't resist this time. Vernon's fist came in from the side and struck him squarely on the nose. Red blossoms erupted behind his eyelids. Curiously, it didn't hurt that much, but he felt blood pour from his nostrils and down his throat as though he had somehow turned into a human waterfall. When he opened his eyes again, he was sitting on the floor by the bed.

Uncle Vernon towered over him, looking like death and damnation. Not even as a child had Harry truly feared his relatives. He had long ago become used to their dislike of him and they had never before truly seemed like they wanted to seriously injure him. But this time defied them all. Harry was as small as a three-year old in the face of this righteous wrath.

"Don't you worry about apologising," howled Uncle Vernon. "You won't get the chance. As soon as that riffraff from childcare has seen that you're fine, you're gone. In the meantime, you'll stay put in this room." He didn't stay to hear Harry comply, but stormed out. And in his haste to check up on Aunt Petunia, he even neglected to bar the door.

Harry sat on the floor in a daze. How quickly things had gone downhill and just seemed to spiral onwards and out of control. He had known from before that he wasn't loved here, that neither his uncle nor aunt really cared much about him, but this incident confirmed their true feelings once and for all. If he had somehow hoped that any of the adults might harbour hidden feelings of sympathy towards him, that idea was now completely dead. As the icing on the cake came Snape's treachery. And how pathetic wasn't it that Harry would feel so alone just from being betrayed by the very people who liked him the least.

But there was no time to indulge in those feelings. A sudden noise in the hall startled him and then the door to his room opened again. Harry scrambled to his feet, but was relieved, for once, to see his cousin's face peer through the opening.

"When did _you_ arrive?" Dudley looked around expectantly. "Did you hear someone shout?"

Trust Dudley to be completely unaware of his surroundings. Harry silently promised himself never to become addicted to videogames. "I just got here," he muttered, "hence the noise."

"Were you the one that was shouting? You sound like a bloody girl!" Dudley came into the room and gave it an imperious once-over. He picked one of his old toys off the shelf, seemingly on random. It was a broken fire engine and they had both outgrown it long ago.

"Never mind that," said Harry grumpily. "You'll find out tomorrow morning whether you wish it or not." From the expression on Uncle Vernon's face, he doubted very much that the last word was said on this matter.

Dudley shrugged, as though it made no difference to him, as though he was safe in his belief that any animosity would be directed at Harry and would never threaten the peace between his parents. It must be great, thought Harry bitterly, to be so secure.

But then again, he had never seen this side of Uncle Vernon before. He had seemed truly distraught by seeing Petunia's bleeding nose.

"Dudley?"

Dudley threw the toy back into a box on the floor. "Hm?"

"Does your dad y'know…do you know if he loves your mum?" It was strange how vulnerable that question made him feel, even though he had the answer now.

"Ugh, come off it." Dudley made a face of disgust. "That's sick."

It was odd really, how Harry had never given this a thought, how he must have spent his entire childhood thinking his relatives incapable of true love, just to protect himself. But with Dudley's childish response, he knew for sure. It wasn't that his relatives were incapable of affection, it was just him they didn't like.

Just like Snape, the utter bastard.

"So what's up with your face then?" Dudley pointed at his nose. "Been in a fight?"

Harry shrugged, wishing that Dudley would just go away. "Yeah, something like that…"

"I was made captain on our boxing team this year," said Dudley proudly. "I'm in charge of training the first-years. You should learn boxing, Harry, even though you're scrawny. It's the best sport ever."

"Good for you." Harry blinked as a thought struck him like a slap in the face. "Hey, Dudley, why are you here anyway?"

Dudley's face indicated that he was seriously questioning Harry's intelligence. "Why, I came just now, of course, like you. Don't you know what day it is?" He laughed mockingly.

"Oh, shit." Harry felt a sudden, intense elation. "You mean to say it's summer hols?"

"Bloody hell," huffed Dudley, "Don't they teach you the calendar at that school? I swear you seem weirder each summer."

But Harry didn't listen. He was already planning his next move. Because summer holiday meant that Ron would be at the Burrow. And if there was one place in this world Harry wanted to be right now, that was it.

There wasn't a chance he'd be staying with his relatives, or anywhere near Severus Snape, for a minute more than absolutely necessary.


	9. Fly by Night

The earth was cold beneath him and slightly moist. A nearby lamppost made a small cone of light near the corner of Privet Drive and Wisteria Walk. Some time must have passed –had he slept?– because it was even darker out now than it had been when Dursley left.

Severus stood gingerly, carefully, half-expecting the sudden crack of apparition or a sneaking attack from behind. But none came. There were no signs of Aurors, nor Death Eaters, nor indeed of people of any kind. The street was quiet and deserted except for the trills and gurgles of a nightingale that perched somewhere in the thicket of a neighbour's back yard. All the lights had gone out inside number four.

He stole back down the road, all the way to the overly pruned hedge and now familiar front yard of the Dursley residence. It took more patience than he really possessed, but with the aid of a pocketknife and several failed and one successful attempt at a wandless _alohomora_ , he managed to wrestle the front-door tumbler lock into submission.

The door shut silently on well-oiled hinges. The hall was short and tidy, with a soft carpet on the floor and a doormat that absurdly said 'welcome'. Severus knew he wasn't. But the house was quiet and dark. All colour was distorted to mere shades of grey. He could glimpse the ghostly outlines of what seemed to be furniture further ahead.

Severus braved a few steps in but then he froze. The shadow that flicked across his peripheral vision all but stopped his heart. He spun to the left, but all he could see was something that vaguely resembled his own startled face.

When he cautiously extended a hand, the image moved with him. Undeniably him then, although the splinching had done a number on him. Skin devoid of colour, deep, dark bags under the eyes, and a crouching limp. It was no wonder he spooked all the first-years. He frowned and the miserable sod in the mirror frowned back. Whenever did that line between his eyes appear? He touched his own forehead and couldn't remember.

He found it best not to loiter. There were pictures in the hall as well, several of a teenaged Dursley-lookalike, but none of Potter. Petunia and Dursley peered down on him from above a chest of drawers, together with a stout, arrogant-looking woman who held a slobbering bulldog to her bosom.

Tuney… He took a moment to study her. The resemblance to Lily was more pronounced now than it had been when they were children, although they were not alike in specific features. Where Lily had red hair, Petunia was blonde and where Petunia had pale, blue eyes and a long face, Lily… Well.

Severus had a living, ever-present reminder of exactly what her eyes had been like. Potter and Petunia… He moved on, unable to decide which of them was the worst.

The lounge was to his left. The furniture seemed mostly pink or white in colour and the chimney was boarded-up and had an electric fire in front of it instead. Everything was surgically clean, he could tell even in the dim lighting from the faint scent of detergents.

Potter would likely be upstairs. Severus scowled into the darkness. Hauling a reluctant and likely very angry teenager out of bed did not appeal. At the very least, he could use a bracer beforehand. Dursley would probably keep something that was appropriate for just this kind of situation.

He found what he was looking for in a cupboard in the lounge and brought the bottle over to the kitchen. Ignoring the spotless, top-of-the-range appliances, which he would have no idea how to operate in any case, he applied himself instead to some of Petunia's leftover cooking from the fridge.

The food was excellent, the liquor even more, but by the time the he finished, he was beginning to feel the strain of a very long day. He could not mount the will to resist as his feet seemed to carry him into the lounge of their own accord.

Forty winks before all hell broke loose; he had earned that, hadn't he? Petunia would likely take offence to him using the sofa, but he didn't care in the least. She could clean it to her impossible standard tomorrow, he would be long gone by the time the Dursley's woke.

His eyes were just about to slip shut, but as he went through his coat for another of the muggle painkillers, which weren't nearly as effective as his own now empty brews, something fell out of the pocket. He caught it on a reflex and brought it close to his face in the darkness.

A chocolate frog. He used to love them as a child, always had. It had to be an old one because the animating charm was all but gone, but he ate it anyway, staring at the tiny card that went with it.

The Headmaster twinkled back at him, wizard's hat askew.

 _Considered by many to be the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of Dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling._

Those measly words were so very inadequate to describe everything that was Albus Dumbledore. Severus sighed.

"Don't look at me like that."

His voice sounded strange in the empty room. The card did not reply, which was probably a good thing. Severus frowned at it.

"I must be mad to be here," he told the portrait. "I think Potter's going mad. I don't recognise him anymore."

The Headmaster smoothed down his beard and beamed; a familiar sight for anyone who knew him well. It made Severus feel as bruised on the inside as he was on the outside.

"You think I'm wrong about him, I'm aware. Just don't look at me like that. At least I've told him now. About everything. You always wanted me to do that and now I have, for all the good it did him." He added, "when he discovered me anyway, I'm not a saint."

Dumbledore's portrait just smiled and looked to the side, as though preparing to move on to another, more interesting frame. Severus shook it gently.

"No, wait. I don't know what to do. I should have left him with Minerva, I know, that was selfish…but now? He can't stay here, surely you agree?"

Severus rubbed his face as the Headmaster waved and turned away without leaving any answers.

What would happen should they ever meet again? Unlike the Dark Lord, Dumbledore didn't have the awful habit of cursing people when he was unhappy, but this was a very special case.

He whispered to the empty card, "just don't kill me on sight, will you?"

~o~

It was a very grim set of faces that assembled at number twelve Grimmauld Place that night. The Order of the Phoenix had been dealt a low blow and it was taking its toll on its members.

"It is a national crisis," said Kingsley Shacklebolt, who stood by the window, balancing a dainty teacup in his large hands. "The people –they _deserve_ to know."

"And what should we tell them?" Hestia Jones, who sat by the table next to the tiny Dedalus Diggle, wore a hectic flush upon her cheeks. The smooth bun she usually tied at the nape of her neck was in disarray and strands of black hair had escaped and fell into her eyes. She didn't seem to mind for once. "That we lost Harry Potter to the Death Eaters because we couldn't keep a proper eye on him? It's a disgrace for Hogwarts, for the Auror force, for the entire Ministry!" She shook her head. "Fudge will hang for sure."

"He might anyway, as things look now," said Bill Weasley. He straddled a chair with the backrest against the table, as though ready to leap into action at any given moment. "And I'm not sure it's an entirely bad idea."

"In any case, this will be the peak of Rita Skeeter's career," wheezed Elphias Doge. He did not seem able to keep still and had resorted to pacing the narrow space between the pantry and the stove. "I expect we'll all get the sack before this week is through."

"Politics," spat Sirius Black. There was steel in his eyes and he was half standing, half sitting by the short end opposite from Dumbledore. "Is that all you care to discuss? I'd say the fate of your careers is quite beside the point. The boy is my _godson_. I demand –we must do _everything_ within our power to get him back."

The cup in front of him clattered precariously on its saucer. Molly and Arthur Weasley nodded vehemently.

"Quite," said Kingsley. "Our future existence depends upon it. And that is why we must tell them. _Everyone_."

"What reason do we have to believe he is even alive?"

They all turned to look at the speaker, who shrugged broad shoulders and let one magical eye pierce each of them in turn, deliberately and without haste. Sirius Black looked as though he was about to suffer an apoplectic fit.

"Always so cheerful, Alastor," said Sturgis Podmore, raising straw-coloured brows. "You've spent way too much time in the company of Dementors."

"Someone needs to say it like it is." Mad-Eye Moody crossed his arms. "If Potter already is dead –and he probably is– then all it will do if we go public is to spread fear and panic. People will lose faith and we know what follows: chaos. It's as simple as that."

"Harry is _not_ dead." Sirius banged a fist on the table, making the people near him jump. "He is not. I _know_ it."

Molly cleared her voice. "I'm with Sirius," she said. "Ignoring even the faintest chance that he might be alive is simply out of the question."

Sirius gave Moody a haughty look.

"Of course, Molly," said Albus Dumbledore. Up until that moment, he had been watching the others thoughtfully, but without commenting. "Fear not." He nodded at her. "We shall keep looking for Harry until we find him. And we will." He turned to Moody. "Has Bellatrix' body been examined by the mediwizards yet?"

"Yes." It was Diggle who replied. "It was as we thought: no magic involved. Apparently she choked."

"Snape," whispered Nymphadora Tonks. Several of the others turned to her with the sympathetic but apprehensive expression often bestowed upon the grieving. Molly, being the bravest in this situation, grasped her hand.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "It was Severus."

"And you trusted him, Albus." Sirius didn't seem able to contain his anger. "This is the one time I really hate to say I told you so."

"Throwing blame is hardly helpful, Sirius," said Kingsley. "Although I do wonder how he could have managed to keep his true allegiance hidden." It was clear that comment was meant for Dumbledore.

"As do I," said the Headmaster wearily. "I suspect none of you will have trouble believing me when I say that I am the most surprised and disappointed of us all." He folded his hands in front of him and the wrinkled skin on his knuckles turned white. "I take full responsibility for the current state of affairs," he continued, "unfortunately, I have been prevented from staying at Hogwarts this year, and have not been in close contact with Severus for some time. I was therefore unaware that Tom had corrupted him to this degree. The situation is most unfortunate."

Solemn silence followed Dumbledore's admission. It was Tonks who stirred first, removing her hand from Molly's. "I want him…caught." She looked at Kingsley. "For Harry. For Remus. I want him in Azkaban, where he belongs."

Sirius gave his cousin a gentle smile. "Agreed," he said. "Snape knows too much. We're not even safe here at Grimmauld. It should be the priority of the Auror Office to take him out, dead or alive."

"You're right of course," said Bill Wesley. "We must make haste to retract any plans he might know of. Charlie should be called back home, for one."

"Yes, immediately," said Kingsley. "And the protection of Hogwarts is paramount. I suggest we schedule guard duty among ourselves, even if the students have left for home." He looked at the Headmaster. "Will Snape be able to get Death Eaters inside the castle?"

"Not while I am there," said Dumbledore. "However, extra precautions are in order."

Minerva McGonagall sighed. She sat in a chair by the stove with a blanket covering her knees. Dumbledore turned towards her.

"Minerva," he said. "There is a reason for me dragging you out in the middle of the night, even as you have not yet fully healed. Would you care to explain to the others?"

"Of course, Headmaster." She straightened and looked at Sirius. "Two days ago, I had a surprise visitor at St. Mungos. It was Professor Snape and Mr. Potter was with him."

"What?"

Both Tonks and Sirius stood from their seats.

"Harry is alive?" Sirius looked like he was planning an instant and direct journey to the hospital. Dumbledore held up a hand.

"Severus apparated them out just when the aurors got there, Sirius," he said gently. "But, yes, Harry was alive back then. Unfortunately, it has been difficult to understand why Tom sent Severus there with Harry. And since they couldn't trace Severus' wand, we have no idea where they went nor where Tom is keeping Harry now."

"Professor," said Molly urgently to McGonagall, "How did Harry seem? Was he all right? Any injuries? Could he not escape while you were there?"

"He seemed fine," said McGonagall. "A bit confused perhaps, but that is not out of the ordinary for him." She grimaced. "I detected no sign of anxiety in him, nor did he request aid. Unfortunately I was not aware of the situation and did nothing to help him."

"He must have been cursed then," said Kingsley. "The _imperio_?"

"I don't know," answered McGonagall. She looked at Dumbledore. "He might have been."

"Mr. Potter can resist that spell," said the Headmaster. "He has previously shown the ability to counter it when thrown by a fairly competent wizard. I doubt that Severus could cast that curse and make it stick."

"Potions perhaps?" Bill frowned. "A…befuddlement beverage or, I don't know, maybe something as simple as an excess of calming draught?"

"There are many potions with the ability to confuse or mollify," said Dumbledore gravely. "It seems likely that Severus would have used one on Mr Potter. What concerns me is the why of the situation. What was he planning to achieve by bringing Harry to Minerva?"

Several heads turned, but McGonagall merely shook her head helplessly. "I have no idea," she said. "He didn't say. Only that he wanted my help with something."

"Has Snape gone rouge?" Hestia looked bewildered.

"He wanted you to come with him, Minerva?" Kingsley watched McGonagall sharply. "You don't suppose he was trying to capture you as well?"

"With Harry as bait?" Molly paled and Tonks bared her teeth.

"That bastard," Tonks said. "The nerve of him, I can't believe it!"

"Professor McGonagall is a highly valued member of the Order," said Diggle. He watched Dumbledore. "And your second in command, Headmaster. In St. Mungo's, they might have seen her as an easy target."

"I am aware." Dumbledore rubbed his eyes. "Minerva is not going back and you should all stay alert, as best you can. You can count on Tom to take action now that the cards are in his hand. Do not trust anyone. Do not assume that all our allies will remain such." He watched them over his half-moon spectacles. "Expect open war."

Minerva shook her head. "So soon? But he has no army yet…does he?"

"What I mean," said Dumbledore, "is that he will try to take over. It has already begun, we know. The giants. The werewolves." He nodded at Kingsley. "I expect he will go for the Ministry next."

"Pray then," said Bill quietly, "that a sensible person is put in Fudge's place."

Moody shrugged. "It's politics, boy. What d'you expect?"

Molly narrowed her eyes at them. "Shouldn't our main priority right now be to get Harry back?"

"Thank you, Molly," growled Sirius.

"And how do we do that? Advertise in the _Prophet_?" Hestia gave Sirius a tired look. "Or should we all learn to become animagi and somehow sniff him out?"

Her dig fell on stony ground. Dumbledore gave a sharp cough.

"We will search," he said. "Wide and far. Mundungus?"

The scruffy, short man who sat in the furthest corner jerked. Several of the others turned exasperated eyes on him; Fletcher was infamous for sleeping through entire Order meetings.

"Yes?" He straightened, but only marginally, to peer at the Headmaster.

"We should keep watch over Privet Drive. Please drop by Little Whinging tomorrow, at first light. Mrs. Figg on Wisteria Walk has not yet been notified of the situation. We need all the eyes out that we can get."

Mundungus nodded and sank back down behind the collar of his robe. He either ignored or didn't notice the piercing glare that Sirius sent him.

"Albus." Arthur stood and fumbled to produce a letter from his pocket. "I don't know if this –ah– if this will be useful at all, but I got a letter yesterday. It has a suggestion and I thought you might want to hear it."

Several heads turned. Dumbledore stroked his beard. "Do go on, Arthur."

"Yes. It's from Miss Granger." Arthur looked at them above the top of the letter. "That's Harry's best friend, her and our Ronny, that is. They're quite distraught, they somehow refuse to believe that Harry is imprisoned and I fear they are delu–"

"We know who Granger is," said Moody brusquely, "proceed. What does she suggest?"

"Well." Arthur lowered the letter. "To get straight to the point, she asked me if we had informed the muggle law enforcement."

"You mean the police?" asked Tonks.

"Precisely." Arthur gave a weak smile. "She explains in some detail that the abduction of underage children is a severe legal offence among the muggle."

Doge scoffed. "She thinks that muggles can stand a chance against Voldemort and his Death Eaters?"

"Not quite." Arthur frowned. "She suggests that the Headmaster work some of his influence and establish a connection between the muggle –ah– poh-leese and our aurors." He glanced at Dumbledore, "That way, if they sight Harry, they might let us know."

Moody rolled both his eyes, but Dumbledore stood abruptly. "Indeed, why not," he said. "Kingsley, make it so. And to all of you: make use of the contacts that you have. Anyone you know for sure that you can trust. Let us search a few more days before we go official. Who knows what might pass? Harry is a resourceful boy. He may be able to signal us somehow."

The members of the Order nodded, but it was clear that the words rung hollow. As the others stood to leave, Sirius Black met Tonks' red-rimmed gaze resolutely.

~o~

Somewhere else entirely, yet born out of the same confusing circumstances, another meeting was held. Here, there were no arguments or exchange of opinion. Five men kept their silence while one addressed them. They kept their eyes on the table while harsh orders were delivered in a cold, unfeeling tones.

"Keep standing watch," said Lord Voldemort in that icy smooth voice that so frightened his followers. "I want them both and I do not accept failures. Kill the traitor if you want, but first and foremost, you shall bring the boy to me."


	10. Tea and biscuits

"I'm sorry."

"You're always sorry."

There was a flash of red hair as she turned away. Dark shadows approached on all sides, pressing close around him. He needed to make her stop, stay with him –urgently– but she was like water running through his hands.

"Lily!"

He was running now. Through the shrubberies on the riverbank, slipping in the mud as the thorns snagged on his clothes and scraped against his arms. He saw a flash of angry green as she threw him a look over her shoulder.

"Get away from me!"

She was slipping faster. To a place he couldn't reach. And how he resented her innate ability to make people love her. It was like carrying a constant weight around and every time he looked into those eyes, it got a little heavier to bear.

"No, don't go. I'm _sorry_."

The stair creaked.

Something wasn't right. Lily was gone a long time ago and only her son remained.

Severus jerked up with a start. It was only the faintest of sounds and if the dream hadn't already brought him to the brink of waking, he might never have noticed.

The house was sleeping still, but a faint grey was challenging the dark of night. Potter watched him from the bottommost step of the stair.

There was a bruise high on his cheek, blossoming like a purple flower towards his left eye. And those eyes again. For the space of a second, they had the effect of loosening the knot that had formed permanently in Severus' chest.

" _You_."

Then they turned cold as ice. Potter reeled backwards as though he expected Severus to attack. When he remained as he were, the boy marched down the remaining stairs, abandoning any attempt at stealth.

"Potter be quiet," hissed Severus, a bit harsher than he intended it. He intercepted the boy before he could reach the hall and grasped him by the arm. "We have to get out of here. Your uncle–"

"Don't touch me!" Potter wrenched free, backing into the sitting room and nearly stumbling over the doorstep. "Don't touch me," he snarled again. "I'm never talking to you again!"

"Quiet." Severus followed a bit more slowly, trying very hard to appear calm and sensible. "Potter, wait," he whispered. "You'll wake them. We have a chance to get away."

Potter glanced up to where his relatives were sleeping, but didn't stop. "No," he said. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

Damned boy. Why was everything so difficult with him?

"You'd rather stay then?" Severus' patience was wearing thin. He made another lunge for the boy, but he twisted out of reach like a gnat. "Potter, you imbecile. Your relatives can't protect you, don't you realise that? They don't _care_."

"What?" Potter spun around. Despite the obvious discord between him and the Dursleys, his expression reflected true hurt. "And you do?" he cried. "You? You killed Remus! You killed my _parents_!"

"Get a hold of yourself, this is not the time–" Severus sighed and lowered his voice a little. "Potter, your mother was my _friend_."

"Friend?" The boy barked a harsh laugh of anger and disbelief. "You hate my father much more than you ever cared about her. You hate _me_ much more. You killed them! Why should I ever believe anything you say?"

"It was a _mistake_."

"You seem to make a lot of those!"

They were bound to wake the uncle if they went on like this. Severus made another attempt to get control of Potter, but missed as the boy shouldered past him on his way towards the hall. "Potter stop," he barked, but the boy pushed him away, eyes wild with anger.

"Get away from me," he yelled, pushing Severus again and seeming beside himself with rage. "You vile, evil –your fault…always! You should be the one to die, I hate you!"

With a final push that was hard enough to set Severus back a few paces, Potter raced ahead. But when they reached the staircase, he suddenly froze.

When Severus caught up, he froze as well. Because he was facing the mouth of a double-barrelled gun.

"You again," thundered Dursley as he made a human shield in front of Petunia and the large boy Severus remembered from the framed pictures in the hall. "You _dare_?"

The small family were in their nightwear, with rumpled hair and wide, frightened eyes. Petunia held the boy tightly to her as Dursley traversed the last few steps to the ground floor.

"Time to go, boy." Severus grasped Potter by the neck, placing himself between the boy and the mad uncle and pushing him towards the door. He didn't have time to be gentle or delicate about it, but apparently, that was the wrong thing to do.

"Get away from me!"

Severus heard Potter's cousin scream. Then something blinded him and it felt like a horse kicked him harshly in the chest. All he had time to think was that with Potter, he always seemed to make the wrong decision.

When he once more became sentient of the world around him, he lay on the ground. He could feel the carpet beneath, his own weight on it, and his own heart, thumping against his ribs and occasionally missing a beat, probably doing its best.

It hurt, but no more than Potter's words. It seemed to be the final cruel joke that life would play on him, he was slowly becoming aware of that. That in the end, all he had left was Potter. That a boy he had spent so much of his soul on hating was all that mattered after all.

He opened his eyes and the boy was gone.

"Shit," he grunted, searching out Dursley, who was sitting on the floor next to him with the rifle scattered by his side. "Go after him, Dursley. Hurry, he can't be on his own."

"Are you insane?" Dursley coughed harshly, clutching a hand to his chest. He scrambled for the gun, seeming mostly unscathed, apart from a blackened eye. "Blasted boy," he growled, "I should have put him in the cupboard where he belongs and thrown away the key."

By the stair, Petunia was on the floor with her head in her hands, trembling like an aspen leaf. She was white as a sheet and the other boy, who had to be Potter's cousin, stood by her side, watching her in confusion and helpless apathy.

Severus turned to Dursley again, wishing the world would stop going grey on him. "Dursley, hurry!"

"I'm not going after _that_." Dursley was on his feet all of a sudden and he grasped Severus by the arm to try to haul him up. "I'm not suicidal," he barked. "You go. Snape or Slugdung or whatever your name is. You're leaving anyway."

"Ah, stop that." Severus squeezed his eyes shut when Dursley's pulling jostled the injury on his stomach. When he opened them, he could see a freshly dark stain on the already soiled shirt he wore. He looked past Dursley's impressively large form, managing at last to free himself.

Christ, if he survived this madness, the blasted uncle would be the first to know. "Petunia?" he croaked. "Tuney?"

It took her a while to tear her fingers away from her face. Dursley looked between them, scowling, but Potter's cousin finally gathered his wits and took her by the hand.

"Mum?" The boy's voice was high-pitched and timid. "Mum, are you all right?"

Severus straightened, leaning heavily on one elbow as he waited for the room to stop spinning. Petunia finally turned fearful, glassy eyes on him. "My God," she squeaked, "what _was_ that?"

"Wild magic," he replied as he struggled to sit upright. "It happens to children sometimes. That was not in Potter's control, but it was powerful nonetheless."

"We should call the police," said Dursley gruffly. "He's not safe like that, is he?"

"No!" Petunia shook her head violently, making Severus slightly nauseous. "No police, Vernon. There's nothing they can do."

Severus dipped his head in agreement. "She is right," he said. "Never mind the police; we have to worry about the Improper Use of Magic Office." He pointed at the cousin. "Petunia, is there any in him? Any magic at all?"

The cousin's eyes became wide with fear. Both parents looked at the boy. Petunia's face reflected true worry, but she shook her head again, quite firmly. "Not that we know of."

"They'll probably realise Potter was here then." Severus sighed. "You should leave. All three of you. The Dark Lord might have claimed control of the Ministry already. It won't be safe here when they arrive."

Severus climbed to his feet unsteadily, pressing on the wound to stop the bleeding. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, but he had definitely defied the orders of the cranky doctor at St Thomas'.

"Petunia," he said, adjusting the pressure when fresh blood seeped through his fingers. "Do you have a first-aid kit? I have to go after him, but–"

Petunia gave him a blank stare. "I might," she said faintly "…Dudley?" She looked around feebly without getting up, moving only slightly when the boy dropped her hand to go upstairs. She then turned to Severus again, with an expression as though the world had crashed down before her eyes. "You think the…Dark Lord might come here? To _our_ home?"

"The Death Eaters don't know about this house," said Severus, "but they might discover you if Ministry officials arrive. I don't care what you do, Tuney, I don't have time to argue with you, but I'm not staying here a moment longer than necessary."

He passed her on the bottom of the stair, following the cousin up to the first floor on ungainly feet. It felt like he'd had a tad too much whiskey so he helped himself with few of the muggle painkillers before entering what seemed to be the master bedroom.

It bore the signs of its residents having woken up in a hurry. Severus stepped over the comforter, which lay in a bundle on the floor, and selected two shirts from Dursley's cupboard. He chose the one that looked like it would fit him best and changed out of the bloodied shirt he had worn since leaving Spinner's End.

There was an angry gash on his stomach, twisting in the peculiar pattern common to splinching accidents. Luckily, the muggle stitches remained mostly in place. He found the bathroom next door and collected what little medical supplies he could find. A surgical tape sufficed to keep the wound together, at least until he had time to fix it properly. The rest of it, he bundled together inside the second shirt and stuffed into a pocket.

The boy, whose name was apparently Dudley, seemed to have ignored his mother's request and was busy in the second bedroom, frantically changing his clothes and stuffing a few necessities into a bag.

Ten points to the cousin, thought Severus absently as he prepared to leave. Exceeds expectations.

~o~

Harry ran. He ran so fast his sides ached and his lungs burned, but he didn't stop.

Maybe Dudley was right, he though as he jumped the fence of the playground and raced onto the crossing on Privet Drive and Wisteria Walk. Maybe if he had taken up boxing he could have stood a chance against Snape and Uncle Vernon in a more predictable way. The explosion of magic that saved him had been frightening in its raw power and he felt drained from it and shaky.

For a second he'd almost thought it was Uncle Vernon firing off his rifle at Snape, but the tingling, burning sensation down his spine an out his arms had been much like what he felt the time he blew up Aunt Marge that summer she tormented him with pedigrees and breeding.

He chanced a glance over his shoulder as he entered the street again to see whether Snape or Uncle Vernon were following, but no one were near. Snape was clearly not himself, but he was still much bigger than Harry, and if he managed to catch up, Harry had no idea what would happen. He was almost frightened to think of it.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts –he didn't even know if he had hurt anyone– that he didn't hear the voice until it was right beside him.

"Harry? Harry Potter!"

Hanging out of a window, in a pink dressing gown and with a net over her wispy, flyaway hair, was probably the last person Harry expected to see.

"Mrs Figg?"

Taken aback, he came to an abrupt halt and quickly wiped away a few tears of rage.

Figg didn't seem to notice. She waved her arms at him frantically. "Idiot boy!" she hissed. "Get inside here this instant!"

Harry recoiled. "Wha–? No, I–"

Figg slammed the window shut before he could finish speaking and not a moment later, she was on the doorstep and hauling Harry inside. "What are you doing running around in the middle of the night?" she ranted. "Have you completely lost your mind? Get inside before anyone sees you!"

Before Harry had time to process the new turn of events, he was sitting among crocheted covers on mismatched chairs, inhaling a strong scent of cat and cradling a cup of tea and a biscuit.

"What were you thinking?" asked Figg as she used her tartan carpet slipper to toe away two cats from the chair opposite his sofa. "It's the middle of the night. Surely you know that you can't just run away like that." She watched him for a moment before pointing to his face. "Does it have anything to do with that?"

"Oh." Harry touched his brow, which felt sore and spongy. He realised then that Figg had no idea whatsoever that he had gone missing. "Err, I guess," he muttered. "In a way. But it's not all Uncle Vernon's fault either."

He wasn't sure whether to be completely honest or not. He didn't want to endanger the whimsical old lady, who since witnessing in his trial a year ago had risen considerably in his esteem. Yet, her suspicious frown told him he had to be at least somewhat open. And he was so sick of it all. He just wanted to talk to someone nice. Someone who didn't hate him or resent him or was a murderer or a child abuser. Someone who wasn't Snape or any of his relatives.

"It's not that simple," he told her tiredly. "There was this…incident at the Ministry and I ended up with Snape. But then he got hurt and had to go to hospital and that's where Uncle Vernon came to get us and well…you can imagine he wasn't pleased. They threatened us with the Childcare Service."

"Indeed." Mrs Figg blinked a few times before taking a sip of her tea. "And your aunt?"

Harry scratched his head, remembering the pale faces of Aunt Petunia and Dudley as he had scrambled to get away from Snape. "Aunt Petunia was…not quite herself. I don't think she took it very well."

"I see." Seeming to take it all in stride, Figg petted a large orange cat, which had jumped back up on the armrest of her chair. She waited patiently for Harry to tell her more.

He watched her, noticing the flimsy nightclothes and the dressing gown she always seemed to wear, even when going out to the store. She was a peculiar woman. They had never had a talk like this before, almost like adults, and for the first time in his life, Harry recognised her quirks as those of someone belonging to a wizarding family and trying to make it in the muggle world. She was just more successful at it than most other wizards or squibs that he knew.

He suddenly regretted not having spent more time trying to get to know her through his childhood. "Say, Mrs Figg," he said quietly, "are those cats really kneazles?"

"Part kneazle." Figg scratched the purring beast beneath the chin. "I breed them and sell them. It makes good money and they keep me company at night." She smiled. "We're both nocturnal creatures."

"Right." Harry shook his head slightly. "I never knew."

"Where's your other friend then, Harry? The one that went to hospital?"

"Oh." Jarred by the change of topic, Harry took a biscuit to buy some time to think. He didn't want to talk about Snape, didn't even want to know what had happened to him. One thing was for sure, Snape was not his friend. Not anywhere near.

"I don't know," he said at last. "He's probably off arguing with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. They don't like each other much."

"But this was another wizard?" Figg frowned. "What was his name, did you say?"

"Yes, it was Snape."

Figg brightened. "Ah, but I believe I've met him once," she said, "way back when you were just a baby and Dumbledore took me up in his Order. Is he over at number four?"

"Probably." Harry sank a little lower in the chair. "But I'm never going back to him, so don't try to suggest it."

"Why ever not?" Figg adjusted her hairnet so that even more of her grey locks were sticking out at odd angles. "As far as I recall, he's in the Order too. Seems silly to avoid him if he can help you."

"Because he killed my parents!" Harry's reply came harsher than he intended and Figg blinked at him again with pale blue eyes.

"He did?" She recoiled a little. "I thought that You-Know-Who–?"

"Yes, obviously." Harry put the teacup away so hard it clattered on its saucer. "Voldemort cast the killing curse, everyone knows that. But it was Snape who betrayed them, who gave information to Voldemort that made him hunt them and kill them. That's practically the same and he did that on purpose. He says it was a mistake, that he cared about my mother, but –"

Figg waved him off, not minding Harry using Voldemort's name. "What did he plan to do then?" she asked. "Did he tell you as much?"

Harry stopped in his track, confused. "What? About my mother?"

Figg huffed, annoyed. "No," she said. "Keep up, boy. Back at Privet Drive. You said you were with him. What was his intention? Did he say?"

"Oh." Harry frowned. "Well, I guess he said he was bringing me back, but I don't trust him any further than I can throw him. The black-hearted bastard used to be a Death Eater."

"Back where?"

"Back to Hogwarts, obviously, but…"

"But what?" Figg calmly reached for another biscuit, spreading crumbs all over the kneazle in her lap. "Why would he do that if he was a follower of You-Know-Who?"

"I don't know," replied Harry, exasperated. This insistent questioning wasn't exactly helping his mood. "I guess he's not a Death Eater then. But he's just as bad as one, worse even."

"He's the stringy, pallid one with black hair, isn't he?" Figg asked, seemingly not expecting a reply. "Well, at least he was, as I remember him. Must have been only twenty-something back then. Your parents weren't there that time, but I recall him arguing quite a bit with your godfather."

"Oh, he would have." Harry gritted his teeth as he tried to gain control over his anger. Raging at the poor woman wouldn't help any of them, but it was hard not to vent after what he had just learned. "He's the vilest, most horrible human being you can imagine."

"Why, he didn't give _that_ much of an impression," said Figg. She stood and went over to the window. A few of the cat-kneazles followed her, brushing against her bare ankles. "They had a nickname for him," she continued. "Your godfather and another fellow. Something that made me think there was some history there. I don't remember exactly, but I think it had something to do with him being whingy or childish somehow. It was humiliating for him; even I could tell and I don't know anything about it."

Harry felt himself deflate, just a little. "Snivellus?"

"Yes, that was it." Figg turned her head and smiled brightly. The early morning sun illuminated her from behind and she looked a bit like she belonged in a mental ward. "They're still at it then?"

"Snape is mean to everyone." Harry looked down at his hands, not quite able to meet Figg's gaze. "He's the worst human being that I know. The only exception to that is Voldemort."

"Ah, well," said Figg as she turned to the window again, picking up a scraggy-looking cat on the way and petting it between the ears. "There's a crack in everything, son. But strangely enough, that is often where the light gets in."

Harry didn't know what she meant by that so he remained silent. But only until Figg suddenly dropped the cat on the floor and leaned close to the glass.

"Oh," she cried, staring at something outside, "but that's him right there, isn't it?"


	11. The Shed

Harry's heart beat fast as he raced to stand beside Mrs Figg, cats and kneazles scattering all around him with angry meows and hisses.

" _Where_?"

Figg moved a bit to give him space by the window. "He's just over there by the hedge." She pointed across the street near the playground. "Looks a little worse for wear since last I saw him."

Harry followed her finger, eyes landing on a figure that was unmistakable. Surly old dungeon bat Snape with his greasy hair and crooked nose. He was lurking about along the pavement, eyes on the ground and limping a bit.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's him."

The sight made something odd twist in inside Harry's chest. It was an unpleasant mixture of hurt, disappointment, and relief.

Relief because deep down, he had been anxious that the violent outburst of magic might have injured Snape or maybe even worse. Heavens knew he'd had no control of it. Hurt because it had been silly of him to believe that he knew enough about Snape to place his trust in him.

Hurt because despite it being silly, he had, and something in his heart had cracked because of it.

The disappointment was both in Snape for betraying him so cruelly and in himself for allowing it. It had been completely idiotic of him to think that they might have been able to overcome the years of mutual loathing, but far more stupid did he feel for actually wanting to. Snape would never care about Harry. That was the most obvious thing in the world and believing anything else was foolish. Yet far more dangerous was Harry's desire that he would. And that thought burned like poison.

Harry cleared his voice. "Listen," he said to Mrs Figg, "I want you to promise me not to alert him in any way. I really don't want anything to do with him, not after what he did. You understand, don't you?"

Figg gave him an odd look. "Are you sure about that, Harry?" She frowned up at him, apparently concerned. "Using him would be easier and quicker than reaching Dumbledore at this hour. I do think you could use an ally."

Harry shook his head. "I'm sure. Please don't." He watched Snape spin in a circle and examine the first few houses up Wisteria Walk. "I just hope he'll go away," he mumbled. "He can't possibly know that we're here, can he?"

"No, I suppose he can't." Figg sighed heavily. "A spot of tea then, while we wait for him to leave?" She straightened, but before she could pull the curtain shut, something had her squinting out the window again.

"Oh, Harry, look. There's someone out there with him now."

Harry had noticed as well. He stiffened as a stranger emerged on the lane that went to the park with a playground.

"Who's that?" His voice cracked a little.

"No idea," murmured Figg, "I've never seen him before. Do you think that they–?"

But it soon became clear that the stranger was no friend of Snape's. Upon spotting him ahead, he crouched, creeping along the fence of a garden and seemingly preparing for an attack. He was behind Snape, who hadn't yet noticed and Harry held his breath.

"That man is bad news if I ever saw it," said Figg. She jerked back with a start as the man looked around, suddenly staring straight at them.

"You think he saw us?" asked Harry, who had ducked behind a lace curtain.

"Maybe. But he doesn't seem to care." Figg remained in place, but she was trembling now. It was evident both in her voice and in her hands. "Harry, he has a wand."

Harry's hands were sweaty and shaking as well. He glanced out the window again, more carefully this time, to see the stranger approach Snape from behind.

"Oh, dear," whispered Figg. "I'm afraid your friend is a goner." She pushed Harry down and pulled the curtain a little closer.

"Harry I think you should go back to number four," she croaked. "This isn't safe at all. Go back there now, while he's occupied with Snape. Use the back and go through the gardens."

She gave Harry a light shove while still keeping her eyes on the street. "Quickly now! He'll stall them for you."

She was probably right. Heart racing, Harry jumped over furniture and cats and piles of books and newspapers to reach the back. There was no doubt in his mind that this man had to be a Death Eater, but how on Earth was that possible? There had never been one in Little Whinging before, at least as far as Harry knew. And this one had almost seemed to know that they were here.

To top that, it was perhaps the worst possible timing. All he could hope for now was that Snape could put up a fight long enough for him to escape.

Mrs Figg's garden had a flimsy picket fence and rose bushes along the edges. Harry chose the smallest bush and made a jump for it, ending up in a small alley between Figg's house and the next. To his left was a path he knew took a bow back to Privet Drive. To his right was Wisteria Walk.

He should have made a beeline for it, Harry knew. But the circumstances were exceptional and he just couldn't help himself.

There was a trash bin a few yards in front of him and he used it to conceal himself as he approached the end of the alley. At first, he couldn't properly tell what was going on. The man who was likely a Death Eater had his back to Harry down the road, but it was impossible to hear them from this distance.

Taking a chance and silently apologising to Figg for his carelessness, Harry sprinted across the street to duck behind a car that stood parked on the gravel lane that crossed over to Magnolia Crescent.

He had a better view from here and it soon became obvious that this was no encounter between friends. Snape was on his knees while the stranger stood above him. Harry couldn't tell whether he was injured or not, but it seemed to him that the Death Eater was demanding answers out of Snape.

And what answers could he possibly demand apart from news about Harry?

As he watched, the Death Eater raised his wand and Snape made an unnatural jerk of his upper body. It made ice trickled down his spine. He instantly recognised the wand motion of the cruciatus.

Harry couldn't stand that curse. He knew it far too well. It was foul and demeaning and even though it was only directed at Snape, the shout escaped him without thought:

"Hey!"

The Death Eater whirled in the direction of the sound, staring straight at the car that Harry hid behind. For a moment, he thought he had made the biggest mistake of his life, but as luck would have it, the early morning sun reflected off the car windows, making the Death Eater sway and squint.

Snape must have realised that this was his chance, because with agonisingly slow movements, he picked himself up off the ground. Harry sat rooted to the spot, watching as though paralysed as Snape staggered forward, somehow managing to approach the unsuspecting Death Eater without his notice. In the next instant, Snape threw himself at him.

They both went down, Snape on top and the Death Eater's wand caught beneath them.

The world came to a standstill as they remained trapped in a silent struggle for the upper hand. Then another voice cut through the air, high-pitched and shrill.

"Hello there! I'm calling the police!"

It was Mrs Figg. She was hanging out of the window again and waving her bony fist at the two fighting men. They both broke off and watched her for a moment of evident confusion before Snape came to his senses and kicked the stranger in the back.

The man grunted and scrambled for air as Snape made a run for it. He stumbled and nearly fell, barely righting himself in time. Just as he reached Harry's car, a spell from the Death Eater's wand smashed Figg's window into a thousand pieces.

Harry had no time to check if she managed to get away.

"This way." Snape grasped him by the arm so hard it burned and hauled him up, shoving him in the direction of Magnolia Crescent. They raced on, barely rounding a corner before another spell hit a lamppost behind.

"What's going on?" puffed Harry as he threw his hands over his head to avoid the glass splinters. "Why is there a Death Eater here?"

"Run, you idiot! Down there!" Snape just pushed him on ahead, placing himself closest to the line of fire. They broke off from the lane down another gravel path that led to Magnolia Road. Here, they took another turn, racing towards a small parking lot with freshly cleaned cars that glittered in the sunlight.

They didn't once break stride, but as they entered Magnolia Road, the sound of spells hitting the pavement and walls seemed to become more distant. Harry felt a sudden intense elation. Perhaps they had made it after all.

And it felt like he could fly. Compared to running from Piers and Dudley, or even to quidditch practice, this was nothing. The Death Eater wasn't very fast at all and he made no attempt at stealth. Harry cast a glance over his uninjured shoulder, seeing only deserted yards and an empty street.

But Snape was clearly struggling. He had fallen behind and Harry's heart sank as he saw him stumble over the top of a fence. There was a pained expression on his face and he was holding one of his arms close to his stomach.

Harry stopped, uncertain, looking around desperately to see if the Death Eater was catching up.

"Can't you go any faster?"

Snape glanced up. "Potter don't…wait for me you…imbecile, run!" He straightened, seemingly making an effort to pull himself together, but just then, a light flashed close to Harry's head and he was pushed back by what felt like a large firecracker.

The spell, aimed at Snape, hit Harry on the upper arm. White-hot pain shot out from his shoulder. It felt as though it had been severed from his body and he found himself suddenly down on one knee, giving out a startled cry for help.

"Snape?"

His voice sounded feeble, even to his own ears. But Snape seemed to have gone into survival mode. He was over Harry in a heartbeat, hauling him up and dragging him into another narrow alley that went in between two houses.

"In here," he panted, puling Harry through a back yard and out onto a street that Harry didn't recognise right then. There they entered another yard, slowing down as Snape had them sneaking silently through someone's garden, back in the same direction they had come from.

"Potter?" Snape brought them to a halt behind the house, where they were partially hidden by a wooden carport with one wall. He turned Harry by the arm to get a look at the injury. "It's just a cutting spell," he said, "are you–"

"I'm fine." They were both breathing hard. Harry jerked out of Snape's reach, trying to appear unaffected, but his arm stung something fiercely. He twisted to try to get a look at it, but the shoulder was too stiff.

Snape watched him for a moment, then he nodded once and glanced out between the apple trees in the garden. "He's heading that way," he breathed. "Think you can run some more?"

For some reason the question kindled Harry's irritation again, almost enough to make him spiteful. But he refrained, sensibly, settling instead on a curt, "I can if you can."

They set off again, Snape pointing the way in a direction opposite the Death Eater, at nearly the same pace as before. They followed Magnolia Road almost to its end near the outskirts of Little Whinging. The adrenaline made Harry feel quick and nimble and after a while, he almost didn't feel the shoulder any more.

But Snape wasn't faring any better. After what could have been five minutes at most, he slowed to a walk.

"Shit," he panted, coming to a stop and bending to lean against a postbox. "I'm too old for this."

"Don't stop now, we've almost made it." Harry looked around, alert and watchful. "I feel like I could run for ever."

Snape scowled at him, barely looking up. "Are you insane?"

"I run a lot each summer," said Harry absently as he searched the street for a place where Snape could rest a bit. "My cousin calls it 'hunting'."

"Running is your hobby?" Snape sounded slightly alarmed. Or perhaps disgusted, Harry couldn't quite tell since he was winded. But Snape's grumpiness nor his lack of air wasn't the biggest concern right then.

"Err, not on purpose, I suppose," he said nervously, talking mostly to calm himself down. "But yeah, I guess you could say that."

There was an open space on the opposite side on the road. It had an old seesaw and a set of swings and close to that was what looked like an overgrown bench. Harry nudged Snape to get his attention. "We could rest up over there for a bit?"

Snape shook his head and straightened into a crooked albeit upright position. "No," he said, "he'll be back. And there will be more of them." He limped on, following the pavement ahead.

Harry went after him, occasionally casting wary eyes over his shoulder, until they reached a house that bordered the forest between Magnolia Road and the A3. There was a large unlocked shed in the front yard.

Snape pushed the door open, keeping a watchful eye on both the house and on the street behind them. "In here," he said after having examined it for a moment. "Quickly, Potter. We can't be seen."

Harry was just about to protest when Snape suddenly bent double again, this time to clamp a hand down over his left arm. "They're coming," he hissed through his teeth. "Potter, hurry!"

Instantly sobered, Harry hurried past him to get inside. It was cramped and crooked, the floor littered with everything from cement bags to garden equipment and paint.

"Are you familiar with the disillusionment charm?" asked Snape urgently as he closed the door behind them. The room became darker, but rays of light still made it through several cracks in the flimsy plank walls, illuminating a million tiny specks of dust that floated around in the air.

"Yeah, I guess." Harry moved a lawn mower slightly to the side to get enough space to fit them both. "Moody used it on me last summer," he said, "but I don't think–"

"Try it," ordered Snape. "You did powerful magic before. I'm sure you can do it again."

Harry certainly wasn't, but he tried, he really did. The problem was that he didn't even have a bearing on how to manage the spell under normal circumstances, much less how to do it without his wand. And then it didn't make it any easier for him knowing that Voldemort might be running through the door at any given moment.

"It's no use," he said tightly after a while of squinty-eyed floundering. "I can't do it."

"Again." Snape sounded tense and irritated now. "You have to mean it, Potter. Believe that you can do it, and you will."

"Why, you know everything, don't you?" Harry felt his heart beat faster. Damn Snape. He had no right to command Harry in this way, not after what he'd done. "You're not much better, are you?" he said. "I don't see _you_ going about working miracles without a wand."

"I'm–" Snape's expression darkened as he twisted around to glare at Harry. "This is not about _me_ ," he hissed. "Potter, they're out there trying to hunt you down and capture you! This place will be swarming with Death Eaters within minutes, don't you realise that?"

There was no way in the world that Harry could have held back after that. He couldn't even believe what he was hearing. Snape, who had betrayed his parents in the worst possible way, Snape who had been Voldemort's lap dog since before Harry was born was lecturing _him_ about a threat he was the cause of!

"You're unbelievable," he cried. "After what Aunt Petunia told me, you still go on like you have _any_ right!" He backed further away from Snape, bumping into a rake that went down with a clamour.

"Potter! Quiet!"

Snape was panting again, evidently enraged, but Harry wasn't done. "No, I won't be quiet," he yelled. "I know you killed my parents, but I want you to tell me the truth for once and I want you to tell me everything! What else have you done?"

Snape bared his teeth in a sneer. They were crooked and yellow and made Harry instinctively wrinkle his nose. "You want a litany of my crimes?" Snape's shoulder length hair swung forward as he took a threatening step forward. "Trust me, Potter, we don't have that kind of time on our hands."

"I'm talking about my mother!" Harry stood his ground even as Snape approached him, clenching his hands into fists. It took all his restraint not to take a swing at Snape. "I've only just learnt how you betrayed her and now I'm stuck in here with you and we might be dead within the hour! I want you to tell me if there is more because I think I deserve to know!"

He was so angry that yet another tear escaped his eye. That upset him even further so he brushed it away violently. He could not –would not– show weakness in front of Snape.

But something about his little outburst must have made it through to Snape after all, because after a moment of tense silence, he backed away. "No," he said wearily, not quite meeting Harry's eyes. "You know the worst of it."

They fell into uneasy quiet. Harry felt that maybe Snape owed him a little more of an explanation than that, but for once he didn't push.

And that might have been just what saved their lives because not a minute later, voices in the street made them both freeze to the spot.

"They're here." Snape looked around them, his eyes landing on a narrow shelf near the ceiling. "Potter, get up there."

"What?" Harry watched the place in disbelief. It was rather high up and there were a few potato sacs to hide beneath, but there wasn't nearly enough room for the both of them. "You really think they'll fall for that?"

"Potter." Snape grasped his arm again as though to push him backwards, but then he seemed to remember himself. He quickly let go and retreated a step.

"Listen to me," he said a little gentler, "just this last time. I'll make sure that they do. But _don't_ reveal yourself. No matter what happens, stay up there and stay hidden."

Despite everything, something about Snape's intensity had Harry obeying. He accepted a hand up, climbing over Snape's back to reach and balancing precariously over a roof beam. He scrambled for cover beneath the potato sacks, supressing a sneeze when a cloud of dust blew into his face.

He pressed down on the shelf, watching Snape from above as he dragged out a sack of cement to bar the door. There was fresh blood on his shirt, Harry noticed, a shirt that looked like it might belong to Uncle Vernon.

Had the splinching injury worsened, like that nurse at St Mungos' had warned them it might? Snape had never once complained, but even Harry could tell that he wasn't quite himself. He was pale and sweaty as he leaned against the wall, struggling to regain his breath.

One thing was evident at least, there was no way that he could make it up to the shelf on his own.

"What about you?" Harry whispered, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Snape shook his head resolutely. "When they come," he whispered, "don't make a sound. Don't move. Don't even breathe, Potter, and they might pass you by. When they're gone, you hide some more. Then you go to your relatives."

Harry nodded mutely. There wasn't much to say to that because he understood with a sudden chill that Snape didn't believe he was going to make it out alive.

He took a deep breath as Snape picked up a blunt and rusty cleaving axe and took position near the door.

Then they waited.


	12. The Dream

At first, Harry had been afraid that Snape was going to storm out of the shed and try to deal with whomever was on the street, but he didn't.

Instead, he just stood there, eyes never leaving the largest gap between the door planks. He looked a little mad, with his bloodied shirt and his knuckles white around the shaft of the axe.

After a while, the voices disappeared. Snape remained as he were, tense and edgy, but as nothing seemed to happen, Harry's mind slowly drifted to his friends.

Were Ron and Hermione at their houses right now, wondering, just like him, if they would ever meet again? Did they think he was already dead? Or had they insisted on helping the Order in what was surely their quest to locate Harry?

Were they with Sirius?

Thinking about Sirius had his heart beat a little faster for reasons he couldn't quite explain. He was surely looking for Harry, probably among the first of the Order to do so. And if he were the one to find them? He would fight Snape to the death; there was no question about it.

That was unless this Death Eater didn't kill him first. They'd want Harry for prisoner probably. Voldemort would want to finish him off by himself.

Harry tried to focus on calmer things, but he couldn't. What did Voldemort think about this whole mess? What was Dumbledore doing right now?

If they kept this up, they were bound to encounter one or the other, sooner or later. Neither of them were idiots and in retrospect, going to Surrey had perhaps not been the best laid of plans.

If Harry had bothered to ask, Snape would surely agree, as stressed-out as he seemed. Occasionally, he would stir and shift his grip on the axe, but mostly he seemed focused on listening. After what felt like an eternity, Harry raised his head a little to peer down at him.

"Snape?" he whispered into the dusty room. "Are they out there still?"

Snape shook his head. "No," he said tensely, "I believe these were ordinary people. Muggles, most likely."

"Do you think they might have left?" Harry lifted away the corner of a potato sack. It was made of scratchy wool and chafed against the bruise on his cheek. "They won't try anything when there's people here, will they?"

"Of course they will," snapped Snape. "They're Death Eaters, Potter. Do you think they care about a few muggles?"

"Yeah, you should know," retorted Harry snidely. Trust Snape to try to make him look foolish over a thing like this. "Is there any way for them to find us?" he asked. "With magic I mean?"

"I'm not sure." The floorboards creaked as Snape shifted his weight. "I don't think so," he whispered, " _revelio_ won't work in this dense a neighbourhood, not unless they enter this shed."

Harry didn't know what spell Snape was referring to, but there had to be a reason why they were ambushed in the first place. "But how did they find you before then?" he asked, lowering his voice a little to match his volume to Snape's. "That can't have been a coincidence. They must have known somehow that we were close by."

Snape shook his head. "It wasn't. You did magic back at Privet Drive, remember?"

The Improper Use of Magic Office then. Harry knew them intimately from before. His mind raced and he shifted a little to see Snape better. "Are you saying then," he asked with a sudden chill, "that the Death Eaters have some kind of connection to the Ministry?"

"I've no idea," said Snape irritably. "They didn't before, but that might have changed. We'll have to find another newspaper to be sure."

Harry snorted. Wasn't that the whole point of being a spy after all? "I thought you were supposed to know these things," he said. "What do we do then? We can't just wait here until they find us. And no matter what, don't expect me to go back to the Dursleys because even if I wanted to, there's not a chance they'll take me back after what happened."

"I don't' _know_ , Potter," snapped Snape. He ran a hand over his face, reminding Harry of a trapped animal. "Will you please be quiet? I don't – I can't think right now."

Harry grudgingly obliged and that was the last thing any of them said for what seemed like ages.

How much easier things would have been with magic. And oh, what Harry wouldn't have given to get his hands on a broom. He could have flown away, away from the Death Eaters, away from Snape and away from this smelly old shed.

He would have flown above the clouds and to the Burrow. There, Mrs Weasley would have treated him with a bear-hug and fed him supper and hot chocolate. And Mr Weasley would have let him sleep on a mattress in Ron's crooked, worn, brilliant room beneath the attic.

They could have laid there in the evening, talking about how unfair life could be and how much of a git Snape was and everything would have been just as it was before.

It could have been the best summer of his life, he thought. No worries. Playing quidditch with Ginny and the boys in the day. Listening to Mr Weasley as he rambled on about muggle devices. Taking part in family dinners at night. Visiting Sirius…

"I miss my wand."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. His shoulder was starting to bother him. He hadn't even felt it when they had been in the thick of the action, but now it was throbbing with a hot, unpleasant ache.

"Do you think anyone found it and took care of it?"

Snape was sitting on the cement bag now, leaning up against the door. He sat deathly still, the axe in a loose grip by his feet. This whole situation felt a bit like being prisoner. Harry thought that maybe it could distract him a little if he got Snape speaking again, but he merely gave an irritated twitch of his head.

"Don't talk to me about wands, Potter," he grunted. "Least of all you."

Right. He had snapped Snape's in half, hadn't he, what felt like eons ago back in the Department of Mysteries. Although in his defence, he hadn't actually known that it was Snape's at that time.

What kind of a wand would Snape have anyway? Probably a prickly tree with thorns and a core made of something like serpent entails. Curious, Harry leaned out past the edge of the shelf.

"What was it?"

"Hm?" Snape had his eyes closed now. He was resting his head against the wallboards.

"Your wand. What was it made of?"

One eye opened to give him a tired, long-suffering look.

" _What_?" Harry sighed. Being with Snape was like pulling teeth and getting you head bit off for the effort. Not that he expected anything more, or even wanted it in the first place, but it was disheartening to be shot down all the time when all he wanted was something other to think about than his imminent death.

He'd almost resigned himself to the atmosphere of tense hostility when he heard Snape sigh as well.

"It was hawthorn and dragon heartstring," he said. "Ten and a quarter inches, brittle. At least, that's what Olivander told me."

"Well, I'm sorry I broke it," grumbled Harry. "I probably wouldn't have to be here with you if not for that."

"I had that wand for twenty-five years, Potter." Snape scowled. "I shall say I hope you're sorry."

Even Harry knew they couldn't afford the argument that was sure to follow if he expressed his true feelings on who of them should be sorry. They were quiet again for some time, until Harry's stomach gave an angry growl. Snape looked up at him.

"Have you eaten anything lately?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "I'm fine."

"Really?" said Snape. "How long?"

Harry wondered about that himself. He was used to having little over summer, but he'd been accustomed to Hogwarts fare over the semester and that was something quite different. "You gave me food," he said, thinking with longing of Snape's tinned soup, which suddenly seemed like a luxury meal even though it had been cold and probably over a decade old. "And then I had a few biscuits over at Mrs Figg's."

"Mrs Figg?" repeated Snape, suddenly suspicious. "Who is she?"

Although he would have liked to check up on Mrs Figg, Harry felt that he had both burdened and endangered her quite enough for a lifetime. "Never mind," he told Snape. "She can't help us anyway. I miss her treats, that's all."

"Well, don't look at me," said Snape grumpily. "I don't have any."

They fell into tense silence again. It lasted a lot longer this time and Harry hadn't had a proper rest since spending a few stolen hours in that broom closet at St Thomas'. He was mentally exhausted and after going through a long list of all the scathing replies he could have thrown Snape's way, he eventually fell asleep.

At least that's what he thought he did, but even in his dream, he was aware.

And what an odd dream it was. Instead of being chased by Aunt Marge's bulldog, being found naked in a Hogwarts corridor or running late to class, as was his norm, he seemed to be revisiting old and seemingly authentic memories.

He was at preschool; before Aunt Petunia gave him his glasses, struggling to follow an adult that tried fruitlessly to teach him the alphabet…He was in Hogsmeade on Valentine's day, in a very stilted conversation with Cho Chang over tea at Madam Puddifoot's. Then he was in Dumbledore's office, for the very first time as a second-year, watching the sorting hat as it told him once again that he would have done very well in Slytherin…

But the strangest of all was that there was two of him. All the while, he was watching himself, present in the memory, yet neither acting nor interacting with his younger self. It was almost, but not quite, like being in a pensieve. Or perhaps like an occlumency lesson, but –thankfully– without Snape.

He felt that it was significant in some way, yet he had no idea how.

But when he woke again, the dream faded quickly.

The light had dimmed by then and the room was very quiet. Harry raised his head. Snape seemed to have taken a nap as well as he wasn't sitting by the door anymore.

Being in this shed was surreal and waiting for an attack like this was ridiculous. Slightly angry with himself for his lack of vigilance, Harry felt a bit like he was getting the cabin fever. He was all antsy and sleepy at odd intervals, and he was ravenous.

If he only had money, he'd be able to buy some food eventually. And since Snape was already asleep, he might even be able to get out of here. He searched his empty pocket, cursing himself silently for not having thought as far upon leaving Privet Drive. Not that he had any savings there; the Dursleys would never have stood for it.

But then again –Harry softly raised his head– Snape had.

If he could get to Snape's coat unnoticed, perhaps he could take the money and escape? Stealing Snape's savings while he slept did sound slightly deceitful, however, the ends justified the means in this case. And a bus to Ottery St Catchpole sounded just about right. He'd be rid of Snape and maybe he'd even be less obtrusive while travelling on his own.

Harry silently freed himself of the potato sacks and stood. He used the narrow roof beam he had to climb when getting up and hoisted himself down from the shelf with his good arm bearing the brunt of his weight. It hurt, but he managed to land softly on the ground and crouch down next to the lawn mower.

Snape didn't stir.

But as he crept closer, Harry quickly realised that Snape was using the coat for a pillow. And sometime during the time that Harry slept he must have rearranged, because he had placed his carcass so that he was effectively barring the door.

There were no windows in the shed and he was practically imprisoned. Harry's plan crumbled to dust and he didn't feel quite so brilliant anymore. He sighed, watching Snape as he snored, one arm resting over the dark stain on his shirt.

"You really are a git, aren't you?"

Maybe it could have been worse. He had neither been killed, captured, or tortured –yet. And Snape's snoring wasn't nearly as bad as Uncle Vernon's. Then again, a lot had happened over a short time and maybe Harry was just growing accustomed to it all. To a life on the run and to a Snape who seemed to have grown more subdued since his little stint in the hospital and that incident over at Privet Drive.

Merlin's balls, he had to be careful. Harry shook his head. Soon, someone would start adding 'syndrome' after his name.

A snorting laugh escaped him, just as unplanned as it was uncontrollable.

Snape's eyes snapped open and in an instant, he had a hand on the axe.

"What?"

Maybe it was a good thing that Harry hadn't tried to steal the money. He chuckled, morbidly imagining Snape waking up like that and chopping his head off in fright. That would have been one for the storybooks.

"Then, if you were a proper genius," he told Snape, "you might have delivered my remains to Voldemort. He'd have had a field day with that. I'm sure he would have named you prime minister, or whatever it is they call the second in command of evil dark lords."

Snape just stared oddly, but the thought of him waving to the public from the stair on ten Downing Street made Harry chuckle even more. He would have been even less popular than Fudge.

"I fail to see the comedy," said Snape as his puzzled expression transformed into a glare. He slowly lowered the axe until the head of it rested on his chest. "Is this somehow amusing for you?"

"Don't you think it's funny?" Harry shrugged, wincing a bit when his shoulder gave an angry protest. "I don't know. Sometimes when things get really bad, they just…"

Snape scowled. "One day in a shed and you're already losing it," he said, leaning over to glance out between the cracks in the door. "I knew there was something wrong with you."

Harry scoffed. "There's nothing _wrong_ with me," he said. "You're the one who's –"

He flailed around for a bit, falling short in finding a word that accurately summed up Snape's many sins. But Snape didn't wait to hear him out. Instead, he stood with a grunt, placing the axe up against the wall.

"May I see that?" he said flatly.

"What?"

Snape made a twirling motion with his finger, indicating for Harry to turn around. "Your shoulder," he said. "It's started to bleed again."

"Did it?" Harry tried to see for himself, but failed. He hadn't thought it was all that serious, but it stung and burned as his jumper loosened from where it had been sticking to the dried-out blood.

"Let me see it," repeated Snape. "It might get infected if we don't put something over it."

Harry watched him mistrustfully, not very eager to be that close to him.

Snape seemed to realise. He sighed and sat on the cement bag. "Honestly," he said. "Would I have placed myself in this situation if I weren't trying to help you?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, because lately, Snape had needed help more than Harry ever had. Not to mention that he was the cause of their predicament in the first place.

As usual, his reluctance had the effect of ticking Snape off. Harry saw it flash across his face and almost took a step backwards. But then Snape briefly closed his eyes and when he opened them, they were a little saner.

"Show me," he said evenly. "Potter, I assure you I'm on your side."

Harry uncoiled a little. Snape wasn't out to get him, he knew that intellectually. With the prophecy, he had already done the worst damage he could possibly do. Yet that didn't stop Harry from feeling bitter about it. He was also a little reluctant to bare his scrawny upper body to Snape, which had made Dudley laugh himself silly on more than one occasion.

"Fine," he said at last, when Snape merely waited patiently. He lifted the jumper, barely enough to bare his one arm and shoulder, and turned his back to Snape with a raising of his chin and a glare.

After all, he'd seen Snape without a shirt as well and he was even less of a looker than Harry.

But Snape did nothing that hurt, contrary to what Harry might have expected. At first, all he could feel were warm breaths of air as Snape bent closer to have a look.

"It's a bit of a gash," he murmured, "but you were lucky. The spell seems to have mostly grazed you."

Snape went still for a bit, almost long enough to have Harry impatient, but then he felt a tickling sensation on his shoulder, as though Snape was sprinkling him with lukewarm water.

"What're you doing?" He craned his neck, the scowl back in place.

"Cleaning it," snapped Snape. "Hold still."

Harry realised it must have been a cleaning spell he felt and gnashed his teeth together. Trust Snape to shove it in his face like that, making him feel bad about the failed disillusionment charm. And how unfair wasn't that, as it was Snape's fault in the first place that they'd have to stop in this godforsaken shed?

He thought about Mrs Figg again as Snape taped some sort of bandage over the cut (where he got those from Harry could only guess). It occurred to him that the shattered window probably must have given her some time to get away and that since the Death Eater had been very quick to follow Snape, he most likely would not have aimed a second shot her way.

That idea made him feel a little better and he had almost forgiven Snape for sleeping in front of the door when he suddenly spoke up.

"Potter…"

"What is it now?"

He was being rude, Harry knew. But it was hard not to be after all that had happened and when all he really wanted was to fight it out until he was exhausted or it was out of his system. Yet Snape didn't take the bait this time either. In fact, he didn't sound quite like himself as there was something almost hesitant in his voice.

"Your uncle," he said quietly, "Dursley. Is he usually this…difficult?"

An image of a purple-faced Uncle Vernon standing in front of Petunia and Dudley like a human shield flashed past Harry's inner eye. He had certainly seemed crazy enough earlier that day, but this situation was a bit of an exception, even for Harry's relatives.

"He doesn't normally wave firearms around," he told Snape, "if that's what you're thinking about."

"No?"

The enquiry in Snape's voice had Harry craning his head around to look at him. _Then why does he own one_ , his expression seemed to say. That is, if Harry wasn't misinterpreting him entirely.

"Right," he said, because it was a fair question. "The gun. Well, that's…it's a long story. Because his old one, the one he inherited from his grandfather, it became…bent. And then, well, they're a bit afraid of magic, you see. So he got a new one. After Hagrid, that is. In their defence, Hagrid did transfigure a pig's tail onto Dudley's arse so–"

Mid-way his recounting, Harry suddenly realised that he had promised not to tell anyone about Hagrid's use of magic. That probably included Snape as well.

"But that's a long time ago," he said quickly, flushing a bit. "Just forget I said anything. It's complicated, but I do think that Dumbledore knows about the important stuff. I mean, about the umbrella and all."

"Professor Dumbledore," corrected Snape automatically. He looked up. "It wasn't the rifle I was wondering about."

Harry frowned. "Then what?"

"Your uncle," said Snape carefully. "He hits you?"

It was Harry's turn to hesitate. What was Snape trying to accomplish here? Sure, he might have caught a glimpse of Harry's desperation to get away from the Dursleys, but what did he think? That he was somehow entitled to know intimate things about his life now? That was rich.

"Uncle Vernon's no worse than you," he snapped. He wrung out of Snape's reach and pulled his jumper back in place. "At the very least he doesn't humiliate me in public."

Snape just sat there, watching him. "Very well," he said, "what does he do then?"

Harry felt his anger resurge. He retreated to the lawn mower and clamped his mouth shut, watching as Snape leaned forward on his elbows.

"Let me guess," he said when Harry remained silent. "They're afraid of magic. They didn't want you in the first place, and now they resent you for disturbing their peaceful muggle existence. Potter, do they even care about the danger you're in?"

The summary was pretty accurate, which only served to make Harry even angrier. That Snape suddenly felt the need to stick his crooked nose into this was beyond laughable. Besides, he had been harassing Harry for being a spoilt prince since the moment they first met.

"That is none of your business," he hissed in a low, dangerous voice. "You wouldn't care in any case so why bother pretending?"

"Then who's business is it then?" asked Snape flatly. "This reckless treatment of you is dangerous. You should have told the Headmaster about it. Or you head of house, if you're still upset with him. This is not something to keep hidden in your situation."

"That's what you think now? That it's reckless?" Harry clenched his hands into fists. It felt like he was about to explode with the injustice of it all. That only the flimsy walls of this shed concealing them from the Death Eaters were what kept him from tearing the neighbourhood down with another bout of violent magic.

"Don't you dare," he said quietly, "talk to me about 'reckless treatment'. Uncle Vernon didn't kill my parents. Aunt petunia didn't. You did. So just shut up about it."

Snape swallowed. It was the only sign that let Harry know his words struck home because Snape's expression was as blank as though they were discussing the weather. But he didn't spare a second to consider it.

"This is ridiculous," he said, exhaling harshly through his nose. He didn't care anymore if he were attacked on the street, he was done.

"I don't know what you'll do and neither do I care," he told Snape, elbowing his way past him and pushing firmly against the door. It burst open with a bang. "I'm leaving."

~o~

Thirty kilometres east of that, a shaggy black dog, much larger than your average stray, caught the attention of a passer-by in Hyde Park's famous Italian Gardens. The dog growled as it stood there, sniffing on a patch of oddly rust-coloured grass and nudged its nose into a strange broken stick.

A stick, which looked like it once might have had beautiful carvings along the handle.


	13. The Hitchhiker's Guide

The flimsy shed rattled as Severus slammed the door shut, storming after Potter with a single aim in mind: to wing the boy's neck until he finally could see sense.

"Potter."

The boy barely threw him a glance, marching straight through the garden of the nearest house and towards a narrow strip of woods that lay beyond.

" _Potter_. Where do you think you're going?"

Severus finally caught up, grasping the boy by the collar and backing him up against a tree. Potter watched him with startled, myopic eyes.

"I'm off to the Burrow," he said with a dignity that seemed foreign on him. He gave Severus' hand a disgusted look. "Release me."

Burrow…after a second or two of connect-the-dots and wracking his memory, Severus ended up at the Weasley family in Devon.

"Idiot," he hissed. "How will you accomplish that with no money? Do you have a flying carpet hidden in your pocket? Or perhaps the Hogwarts Express?"

Potter raised his chin. "I'm taking the Knight Bus," he said stubbornly. "They've helped me before and I didn't have any money back then either. I'm sure they'll do it again."

"You think so?" Severus sneered down at him. "When are you going to learn? Tell me, have you already forgotten what might be going on at the Ministry? Or do you simply not care?"

"What? The Ministry owns the Knight Bus?" Potter flushed, but his eyes remained determined. "I'll hitchhike then. With a Muggle. The Death Eaters don't drive cars, even you can't argue with that. Now leave me alone."

He wrung free, but Severus stepped in front of him, seething. "You irresponsible, self-satisfied – just like your father. You think so highly of yourself that you can just strut off and no one will get to you? Potter, when will you get it into your tiny head that you can't trust anyone?"

Potter tried to evade him, but Severus grasped him by the arm, forcing him to stop. Potter faltered for a second, but then the colour was back in his cheeks and he clenched his hands into fists.

"Stop calling me that," he said. "I'm nothing like– Stop saying it like it's something horrible. I can't believe you. All this time you let me think my father was the nasty one, but you–" He stomped his foot, eyes flashing. "I was really upset, on your behalf!"

"What?" Severus tried and failed to make sense of the words. A Potter, upset on his behalf, was simply ridiculous. And equally unbelievable.

"When I looked in your pensieve." Potter scowled. "I m not sorry about that. I was, but I'm not anymore. I just think I saw the wrong memory. Because you wouldn't have told me, would you? Aunt Petunia mentioning that was just a bout of bad luck for you. You're not even sorry for keeping it from me."

The reminder of Potter having seen his own teenage self, hung upside down and _scourgified_ into submission by the Marauders was simply too much. It was Severus' turn to flush and anger was his knee-jerk reaction.

"Sorry," he spat. "A spoiled hellion like you – her son? I'll tell you what makes me sorry!"

Potter froze as though he had been slapped and Severus caught himself and stood back. The fire in Lily's eyes was replaced by hurt, quickly camouflaged as the boy turned and walked away.

Severus sighed. Whoever switches from words to violence loses the argument and in this case, that was he, however metaphorical that violence might have been.

Why did Potter always have to bring out the worst in him?

He couldn't really blame it on the father anymore. He had seen too much of the boy for that – a boy who stood by his side when he went to hospital and who, for reasons he couldn't fathom, had thought it prudent to save him from torture after having learnt that he was to blame for Lily's death.

This was a Harry Potter he hadn't known existed and it was both humbling and mortifying to be forced into changing his perception so radically.

Making an effort to compose himself, he followed behind Potter through the thicket, where the trees were heavy with ivy and the ground covered by rotting leaves and litter that had blown in from the lay-by.

Potter wasted no time thrusting his thumb out when they reached the main road.

Together, they watched cars fly by, a whirl of multi-colour and sound. Potter refused to look anywhere near him and Severus tried to think of a way to regain what little trust the boy had once shown him.

"I suppose you have a right to be angry with me," he said at last, making Potter startle and turn his head.

Severus cleared his voice. "I have often accused you of looking like your father," he said. "There are times, however, when you are rather too much like your mother for my piece of mind."

The admission was as far as he was willing to go. From the corner of his eye, he saw Potter swallow.

"I'm still leaving," he murmured, eyes shifting back to the road as a car slowed slightly down the road. It was bright red and smaller than the rest and Potter stuck his thumb out further. "I'll hitch a ride to the Burrow and talk to Mr Weasley." He glanced at Severus again. "I'll tell them though, don't worry."

"What?"

"That you're not one of them." Potter shrugged. "A Death Eater."

Severus blinked because it was the last he had expected. But he was also starting to feel the urgency of their exposed position and dearly wanted the boy away from prying eyes.

"Don't be foolish," he said as calmly as he could. "I thought we had gone over the idea of recklessness before. You can't just ask a muggle for help, the chances of them doing so are–"

Severus was about to say 'miniscule' when the turn signal on the little red car ignited. Dread grasped him by the throat and squeezed.

"Potter, no." He hurried after the boy as he ran forward, following the thing. "Of all your senseless ideas – don't you know not to trust strangers?"

"I'm not afraid of kidnappers," Potter threw over his shoulder. "Not anymore. You have yourself to blame for that."

The car came to a stop and Severus hushed Potter with a wave of his hand. "See what you have done now," he hissed. "Will you at least be quiet so that I can get rid of them?"

He glanced up. The car has rust on the sides and sticker on the rear with the letter 'L'. The driver already had his window down and he was watching them oddly, a cigarette burning between his lips.

"I was wondering if you could give me a lift?" said Potter, ignoring Severus completely. "My…erm…father seems to have misplaced his wallet."

Severus shot him a murderous look that he deliberately failed to notice.

"Where're you going?" the man asked, extinguishing the cigarette against the side-view mirror. He was probably in his early fifties, with iron-grey hair and a discoloured cotton shirt. Severus watched him closely for signs of recognition, but he was either just a muggle, or he was a better actor than Severus had ever been.

"Ottery St Catchpole," Potter hurried to say. His face was lit by hope and his whole body was tense with it. "Or anywhere on the way to Exeter. Or a bus station maybe. I'm not picky."

Severus could have killed him himself for sounding so blatantly desperate, but the muggle snorted and shook his head. "You're in the wrong lane then." He shot Severus a doubtful look. "This is the eastbound, kid."

Potter looked crestfallen, but Severus hesitated. Eastbound meant London and perhaps that was worth the risk after all? His initial impulse had been to reach the closest possible connection to the floo network, which was impossible in a purely muggle area like Surrey.

"Eastbound is fine," he said, feeling his heart against his ribs. "If you'll take us, that is."

The decision was made and he prepared himself for an _imperio_ or _confundo_ should it prove necessary. He kept his eyes on the muggle, keenly aware that his success rate with that type of spells had been in the lower percentile lately.

But the man shrugged casually. "Fine," he said with a nod Potter's way. "Get in."

Severus released the breath he had been holding in. "Take the back seat," he said in Potter's ear. "And try to act…normally. If anything seems off, pretend motion sickness to make him stop. I'm not fully in control of this."

Potter gave him an incredulous stare, but for once he didn't object.

"So," said the driver, once Severus had taken the passenger's seat on his left and they were out on the road. "What's so urgent down in Exeter?"

"The boy has friends there," said Severus smoothly. He had a lot of experience with telling lies that weren't really lies. "We were on our way, but unfortunate events had us ending up at his aunt's." He nodded his head at Potter.

"Right." The man watched Potter in the rear-view mirror. "Not very helpful, was she?"

Severus heard a snort from behind him. "No, they've gone on holiday," he said, briefly glancing Potter's way. "Permanently."

"I see...sorry to hear that." While overtaking a lorry at high speed, the man picked up his package of cigarettes and deftly picked one out. He handed one to Severus as well.

Feeling it was polite, Severus nodded his thanks, acutely reminded of the Headmaster and how he had long since turned him from the habit.

 _It is for your own good, Severus._

He could almost hear the calm, assuring voice and although they had both known that the Headmaster was mostly concerned about setting a poor example for the students, it had not really mattered. When he wanted to, the old man had a singular ability to turn rebuke into a genuine act of caring.

He could be forceful as well, certainly, as Severus had experienced on more than one occasion. Yet, over the years, their interactions had become increasingly coloured by something that was, if not friendship, then at least built on mutual understanding and trust.

Until recently. Merlin, how was it possible to miss someone like this and at the same time be terrified of meeting them again?

"You all right?" the muggle asked and Severus tore his eyes from the cigarette's glow.

"Of course," he replied, busying himself with copying the driver as he rolled the window down to keep the smoke clear of Potter. He had to focus now, and conceive a way to ask this man about unusual government activity that wouldn't seem bizarre to a muggle's eye.

They sped along the main road and the man watched him in turn, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to a soundless tune. "You two look like you've been living rough," he commented. "For a moment there, I almost mistook you for that child abductor."

Severus' heart called instant strike. At least that was what it felt like before it fitfully and with great reluctance resumed its duty.

"Child abductor?" he managed, willing his voice to cooperate. Behind him, he sensed that Potter had gone deathly still. "What…?"

"Why, it was all over the news just this afternoon," said the man casually. "Fifteen-year old boy, worst kidnapping case in three decades. But with your wallet situation happening, I suppose you can't have heard."

This was starting to sound a little too much for a coincidence. Severus swallowed. What would Potter do? Should he ring the alarm, the consequences might be dire. And not just for Severus.

"Worst?" he croaked when Potter remained silent. "How so?"

"Didn't get the details," said the man. "I barely had time for radio before setting off to work. But the description was of a skinny black-haired boy." He chuckled. "Not unlike your little one back there, except he doesn't have the round spectacles. In any case," he said with conviction, "I can tell that you're related."

Behind them, Potter scoffed in what had to be disgust. But by some miracle, he said nothing.

"Indeed?" Severus blinked. He felt a little faint.

The man snorted, apparently mistaking his expression. "I've had teenagers myself, you realise. Three of them, and I live to tell the tale. The way he acts with you–" He laughed again, in a way that engaged his entire body. "You have your work cut out, I'll tell you. But it'll get better. Trust me on that. They do grow out of it, eventually."

Severus could only stare at the man who had no idea who or what he was talking to. He dimly heard Potter supress another choked sound.

Turning his head, he caught the boy's eyes. To his bewilderment, there was laughter in them and he quickly looked away. He hadn't seen that grin since before the fateful encounter with Petunia and wasn't quite ready to acknowledge the relief it brought him.

"Sounds horrible what happened," he said when he once more could string two words together without faltering. "Did they mention where?"

"The kidnapping?" The man scratched his chin. "Smack in the middle of London, they said. On an open street, even. And there were several witnesses."

"Yet…they did nothing?"

"Nothing they could do, I suppose." The man steered the car off the main road and they entered a complicated network of crossroads and alleys. "I had the impression that this was not your usual scallywag," he said. "There was something sinister about the whole thing, but like I said, I didn't catch the details. You'll have to read up on it yourself, I'm sure it'll be all over today's papers."

"I'll be sure to," managed Severus as they pulled over and into the parking lot of a Marks and Spencer Simply Food.

"You're in Wandsworth now," said the man. He gave Severus a lingering look. "That okay with you? I'm heading south to Croydon."

"It is fine," replied Severus. It was a bit of a stretch before they could enter a wizarding area, but if this was the best they could do, he wouldn't complain. At least they were well clear of Surrey.

"I wish you luck then," said the muggle. "If you see my sister in Exeter, tell her hello and that Rover is completely healed and never been better. Her name is Patricia Lewis." He looked Severus in the eye.

"And remember," he said, tilting his head at Potter and lowering his voice a bit. "Kids are like that. But when they act like you're the worst person in the universe and they tell you they utterly hate your guts – that's when they need you the most."

Severus nodded mutely. What he really needed was advice on how to prevent Potter from running off into London all on his own. He could use a good meal and a decent night's rest as well, but he had no delusions about Potter sparing him that reprieve.

He got out of the car and stood back as the boy gave his thanks for the ride and waved at the car when it disappeared back into traffic.

"Where are we?" asked Potter once they were alone. He looked around them uncertainly, seeming much subdued since their earlier confrontation. Behind them was a garage and ahead a construction site. The area was made up of blocks of flats, several stories high, and below them, a mix of shops, offices, and restaurants.

"Swandon Way," said Severus. It was a warm night and typically for a Friday, many people were walking the streets or sitting outside enjoying their end-of-the-week pint. "We will have to go by feet for now. There should be a bridge somewhere ahead."

And so they did, reaching after a while a former wharf area with shallow riverbanks, now surrounded by more blocks of flats and a gas plant. Over the Thames stretched what was probably the least noteworthy bridge in London. It was made of mismatched materials and no attempt had been made to produce architectural effect.

They crossed on the left-hand pavement, Potter dragging his hand over the guardrail, which must once have bright blue, but was now flecked with patches of rust and flaking paint. When they reached the top of the arch, he stopped.

"Just a moment," he murmured, climbing a step on the rail to peer at the water beneath.

Severus sighed impatiently, but let him indulge his fascination nonetheless. He had been the same as a boy, playing among the fish-and-chips wrappings littering the riverbank near his house. He would send sticks or bottles down the tame trickle of water, pretending they were boats and not caring that the river sometimes ran purple with ill-smelling dye.

At least that had improved since the mill shut down.

"Do you think there are fish down there?" asked Potter.

"I'm sure." Severus bent over the rail as well. Tide was low and seagulls were flocking on the exposed sands below. "Why? Is this another of your hobbies?"

"Nah." The boy shifted his feet to dislodge a small stone and they watched it soar down and hit one of the pillars that kept the bridge aloft.

"Missed," he said. He shuffled again and another pebble went in – this time reaching its target with a faint plop.

"I did gardening mostly," he continued. "But that was really Aunt Petunia's hobby. I hated it because Dudley and his friends would always trample the daisies and push the blame on me." He thought for a moment. "I wonder who'll be weeding them when I am gone. It surely can't be Uncle Vernon."

"I suppose he won't," said Severus. "I advised them to relocate."

Potter glanced up. "And they listened?"

"Who knows? I didn't stay to make sure. But by the time I left, your cousin was packing."

"I wonder where they'll go then," said Potter absently. He seemed aware that one chapter of his life had now closed off forever. "Aunt Marge perhaps. I don't think they have anyone else."

Severus didn't have an answer to that. The light was dimming and he pushed off from the guardrail, heading towards the north bank and Chelsea beyond. Potter soon followed.

"What do you think then?" he asked, catching up to walk beside him. "About that kidnapping? Did they really mean you and me?"

"Black hair, round glasses." Severus huffed. "Although they forgot to mention what an imbecile you are, it's an apt description."

"And?" Potter frowned up at him. "Shouldn't we turn ourselves in? There has to be wizards behind that story. Don't you think that maybe Dumbledore–?"

"I don't know who is behind it." Severus shook his head. "Better to assume that our number of enemies has risen exponentially. It could be the Headmaster, but the Dark Lord is equally likely."

Potter recoiled. "He would ask the muggles for help?"

"Of course he wouldn't _ask_." The question was worded so innocently that Severus almost felt sorry for the boy. Surely he had to realise that it only took a single _imperio_ to get the attention of every muggle newspaper in the country. "You might not be aware, Potter, but the Dark Lord is no stranger to the muggle way of life. He grew up in an orphanage in Harrow."

" _What_? He told you that?"

Potter's voice was so shrill and he sounded so rattled that Severus nearly had to supress a snort of laughter. "The Dark Lord doesn't speak about such things," he said. "The Headmaster told me."

Potter went quiet and the silence lasted so long that Severus had to turn and make sure he was still there.

"What do we do then?" he asked when he noticed Severus' eyes on him. He was looking a little pale. "We can't be sure of anything. Do you think we could steal a broom or something?"

"I'm not riding a broom to Scotland, Potter." Severus scoffed, secretly worrying about how to tell him they would have to find lodging for the night. "Floo travel is far safer and a lot easier. But I suspect we'll need a disguise and even that could fail. If I were the Dark Lord's advisor right now, I would have suggested he monitored the air and closed off the network."

Potter scowled at that. "Right," he said bitterly. "I can imagine that being something you would tell him."

Severus looked at him, recognising a flash of the old loathing between them and resenting it.

He knew, deep in his bones, that he was an easy one to hate. It was a lesson he had learned early on in life, way before the Marauders had first laid their eyes on him that day on the Hogwarts Express. Their reaction to him was no surprise. There was something about him, something inexplicable yet ever-present, that deterred people. Disgusted them, even. And although the Headmaster had been the only one to say as much directly to his face, he had always known.

And few had such a reason to hate him as Potter did. Fair was fair, but he wasn't ready to take the blame for something he had not done.

"I might have once," he said. "If the Headmaster wished it of me. But not any more. I am retired now."

And he was. He had not given it much thought, but he was no longer a spy. That was the only thing in his life that was absolutely certain.


	14. Phoenix

They must have been walking for more than an hour. Through neighbourhoods and parks, over roads and between construction sites, Harry tense the entire time and casting wary glances over his shoulder.

It had grown properly dark and Snape walked with his raincoat beneath one arm. He had gone awfully quiet after a time and was slightly dragging his feet. _Retired_ , he had said. He was a little young for it perhaps, but he did look it now. And Harry felt equally exhausted from the anxiety and found himself wishing that Snape would ease up a bit. This pace surely wasn't good for him.

Could it be only four days ago since he had surgery? With all the things that had happened since, Harry hadn't really stopped to consider. And although the smoky green potion Snape had used in St Thomas' seemed to have closed the wound, the fresh spots of dark on Uncle Vernon's shirt told their own story. With them, the bandage on Harry's shoulder itched with the suspicion that Snape had probably intended that for himself.

"It's getting dark," he said as they passed the underground of Edgeware Road, thinking that Snape couldn't possibly keep this up any longer. "Snape? Shouldn't we stop somewhere?"

It was familiar territory for them, as Harry knew upon passing St Mary's Hospital that Bayswater Road and Hyde Park were not far off to his left. He was also aware that they were approaching wizarding areas and although he might have been just tired, he didn't feel as confident about that anymore, not at all like he had upon leaving Surrey.

Snape seemed to have thought along the same lines because he gave a tired nod of his head. "We have to be cautious," he said. "Someplace muggle is safest for now, but this area is outrageously expensive."

"Couldn't you, I don't know…help it along somehow?" Harry felt a little bad for asking it of him, even though Snape had done worse things than steal in his life.

"Perhaps." Snape sighed as they stopped before a pedestrian crossing and looked around. "What about that one?" He pointed to a corner down a narrow alley, where a sign on a red brick building read 'The Phoenix'.

The name seemed like a good omen. Harry agreed, feeling his mood rise considerably. Nevertheless, they approached with bated breath, peering through the windows before entering the carpet-clad lobby of the small inn.

A young woman greeted them. She was chewing bubble-gum and had her hair in a high ponytail and couldn't have been more than eighteen.

Harry kept watch while Snape 'negotiated' the price for a meal and a bed, taking in the battered chesterfield furniture, several signs bearing advice for backpackers, and two long-haired cats that lounged on an oaken chest of drawers in the hall. The place had an adjourning pub with the same name, from which the smell of fried food made his mouth water.

The hike had left him plenty of time to calculate that his last proper meal (excepting Mrs Figg's biscuits and a tin of peaches hidden beneath the floorboards in his room at the Dursleys) had been almost three full days ago.

"I hope you didn't utterly rob her," he said quietly as Snape led the way into the pub. It was unfair perhaps, since he had been the one to suggest it in the first place, but Snape merely jerked his head dismissively, quickly snatching a newspaper from a stand on the wall.

"A pint for me," he told the girl, who had followed them to take the place behind the bar. "And something to eat for the both of us."

There were only two other people there, both men that gave off a feeling of being regulars. Snape paid them no mind and promptly disappeared to a table in the darkest corner to bury his nose in the paper.

Harry watched him, unsure if he was supposed to follow or if Snape was trying to tell him that he wanted to eat alone.

"What do you want then?" The young woman asked, almost making him jump. She flicked her ponytail over her shoulder and smiled.

"I don't know," he muttered, feeling like he could eat anything, and also being clueless about what Snape liked. At the same time, he hoped this girl hadn't heard the same radio program as the man who gave them a lift.

"Oo-kay," she said and blew a bubble, "we have fisherman's pie, roast, and toad-in-the-hole. If you want potatoes with the pie, that's not included."

"Roast then please," said Harry. He was eager to get away from her and hide himself, but she stopped him by pointing her finger over at Snape.

"By the way," she said, bringing a chill down Harry's spine. "I forgot to ask your dad if you're allergic to cats. We have several and they go where they please except the kitchen."

"Right." Harry slowly let out his breath. He had feared she was growing suspicious "Right. I mean no, we're not. Allergic, that is. Not at all."

"Good. Because we don't do refunds."

Perhaps this girl didn't read the papers, but Merlin, this whole situation had Harry on edge. And why did everyone seem to think that Snape was his dad all of a sudden? They looked nothing alike whatsoever.

Finding it safest to be near Snape regardless of how he might feel about it, Harry followed him and plonked down into the opposite chair. "I hope that food comes quickly," he huffed. "But at least she doesn't seem to recognise us."

"I know," murmured Snape from behind the paper. His glass was already half empty. "I took care of that."

Harry winced, having no real desire to find out how. "What's the plan then?" he asked instead. It was curious how he felt no resentment for letting Snape take the lead this time, but he was getting ready to acknowledge to himself that he was out of his depth. "You mentioned finding a floo connection somewhere?"

"It is a possibility." Snape lowered the paper a fraction and glanced up. "But I admit I am torn. If my suspicions about the Dark Lord infiltrating the Ministry prove correct, many chimneys will be under his surveillance."

"You think we could floo directly to Hogwarts?"

"No, the Headmaster would have blocked the fireplaces the instant he suspected me." Snape laid the paper to the side, open on a story that seemed to deal with a bomb going off somewhere in Manchester. "There are connected chimneys in Hogsmeade," he said, "which might be our best chance. But we would need a safe link on this end as well. Preferably a private one."

Harry perked up. "What about Grimmauld Place?"

Instead of replying, Snape jerked his head in the direction of the bar. Harry turned his head a fraction, clamping his mouth shut as the bubble-gum girl approached them with two loaded plates.

"That was quick," he said once she had gone, mouth already full and wondering whether Snape had somehow helped that along as well or if the cook was simply one for using shortcuts.

It didn't matter much either way, for the first bite had reignited his desire for food. Being without for so long somehow repressed the hunger, a thing he had experienced before during summers, but smelling food again and eating it made him instantly ravenous.

"The Headmaster will have shut off Grimmauld Place," said Snape who was busy with his own plate. "There won't be anyone there. They'll think I've given that location to the Dark Lord."

Harry sighed. Everything wold have been much easier if only Dumbledore and the Order could have trusted Snape. They could have left a message with the Dursleys, or Mrs Figg, or even with Professor McGonagall. Harry almost felt indignant on his behalf because surely, they had known him and worked with him for many years already. To cast him away so easily felt almost cruel.

But then again, he knew a fair few of them didn't really like Snape, something Harry himself was guilty of, and which they probably had plenty of reasons for.

"What about your house then?" he asked between bites. "Flooing out of Cokeworth worked just fine before."

Snape gave a gentle shake of his head. "I'm afraid that house is history, Potter. Rowle will have torn it down or burned it. I had a few…incriminating items there."

"You think?" Harry blinked. Despite having only spent a single night in the old hovel, the thought was slightly upsetting. It seemed so…final. And if nothing else, Hermione would most certainly have cried over all the dusty books that met their doom.

But Snape just continued eating, seeming to think nothing of it. Harry suddenly found himself wondering what he felt about all this. He already knew he had to feel responsible in some way for their current predicament, but that didn't explain his apparent lack of anger at those who distrusted him so unfairly or those who callously burned his home to the ground.

Did he have a hope that they would make it back to safety? Was he scared?

"What do we do then?" he asked. "If even the police are after us, then nowhere is really safe." He glanced around, catching the eye of one of the men near the bar and quickly averting his own. "We shouldn't even be here now."

"Stop being jittery, Potter," grumbled Snape between bites. "You're giving me a headache. There are greater concerns than the muggle police."

"You shouldn't dismiss them, they have ways of finding people too." Harry looked up sharply, unsure just how up-to-date Snape's knowledge of the muggle world really was. "You know they have dogs, right?"

"Dogs," huffed Snape. He shot harry an annoyed look. It looked like the very thought disgusted him.

"You don't like dogs?" asked Harry innocently.

Snape shook his head, scraping his fork along the plate to soak a potato in the gravy. "They are pestering, scruffy, and loud," he said, as though that settled the matter.

Harry speared a carrot. "Is there anything you do like then? Anything at all?"

He hoped Snape wouldn't say potions or anything equally impersonal because even he had to have _something_.

When Snape remained quiet, he sighed. "It doesn't have to be an animal," he said quietly. "What do you enjoy doing? Say, what would you have done right now, if Voldemort suddenly dropped dead all on his own?"

Snape raised his head mid-chew and looked at him. His expression was carefully blank apart from a slight shudder at Harry's use of Voldemort's name. But Harry was used to ignoring that in other people. He could imagine a thousand possibilities for himself.

"I would have bought myself the newest Nimbus and flown," he said, a picture of himself against the limitless sky vivid in his mind. "I don't care where, I would just have flown as fast and high as I could and been free." He frowned and wiped his hands on the napkin. "But I can't see you doing that. Would you have gone on a holiday? Or taken up gardening like Aunt Petunia?"

Thinking back at the muggle hospital made Harry chuckle into the back of his hand. "You know, that surgeon actually asked me if you're a volcano spotter or sword swallower," he said, scoffing slightly. "She was miles off, wasn't she?"

His smile dimmed a bit as he watched Snape swallow and slowly lower his fork to the plate. It almost seemed like the man had genuinely no idea what he would have done, which made Harry frown. Did he not see a future for himself? It was a little sad in a way.

"I bet you would have burrowed you nose in a book," said Harry. Because surely, even Snape needed had to have one good thing in his future to look forward to. "And you would only come out to eat or sleep. You wouldn't have to be around people then either, but perhaps that might become lonely, even for you. Maybe, when I tired of flying, I could have visited. Just so that you had someone there to pester you."

Snape swallowed audibly, making Harry realise he was rambling. "Sorry," he said, although he wasn't really. This was the most amusement he'd had for a while, which when thinking about it probably was a little pathetic since the conversation had been entirely one-sided.

"Ignore me." He sighed. Snape was probably too tired for this. "I guess I'm just nervous."

"Aren't you having that?" asked Snape after a moment's deliberation. He nodded his head at Harry's plate. While Snape's was scraped clean, his was full of leftovers.

"I can't eat any more." Harry frowned, feeling a need to explain himself. "It's not because I'm picky, it's just…when I haven't eaten for a long time, it gets…"

"I see." Snape didn't seem overly pleased with his reply, but he let it slide. "If you're done then?"

He stood, leaving the newspaper on the table. Harry followed him back through the lobby, keeping his head well down as they passed the bar. Snape then led then up a stair and to a room that faced the street on the other side of the building. It had three bunk beds in it, but only one was made and there were no other occupants. Harry wondered once again what it had taken from Snape to pull this off.

"I get the bottom one," said Snape and with no further ado, he laid on his back on the bead and threw an arm across his eyes, going as still as a brick.

Harry watched the top bunk suspiciously, guessing Snape chose that way so that he would wake up if Harry should try to run off. A fair point perhaps, yet then again, he thought, as he made his way up the flimsy ladder, Snape did look exhausted so maybe he was just reluctant to climb.

Nevertheless, Harry knew Snape had to be on high alert because every time he stirred in the creaky bed, Snape would tense and keep his breath for a moment, as though listening intently. Harry had no desire to flee just then and since he had a hard time keeping still, he almost told Snape as much out of pity. Almost.

But it was difficult to relax, his mind spinning and skipping between this and that, trying to figure out what options they had, or conceiving ways he could persuade Snape into taking him to the Burrow. He also thought about Remus.

Poor Remus. For all the kind help he had offered Harry with the dementors, their relationship had never been quite like that he had with Sirius. It was his own fault, he supposed. Because even though he was dead, Harry couldn't help but still feel the old resentment that had tainted his opinion. Sure, Remus had been there for him in school, but in all the years Harry had spent alone and cut off from the magical world with the Dursleys, he hadn't once tried to contact him.

Then again, Harry thought, it didn't matter any more. Remus was gone and Harry wouldn't ever have to go back to the Dursleys now. By mistake or not, Snape had made sure of that.

Despite how tired he was, sleep seemed to elude him. Harry laid on his side, glancing out from the edge of the bed. The room was pitch black, apart from a sliver of moonlight that fell on a painting on the wall of a black-haired woman. She had a monkey on one shoulder and a cat on the other and didn't look happy about it at all.

"What did the newspaper say?"

The room was quiet for a bit before Snape answered. "Nothing more than what the driver could tell," he mumbled, seemingly from underneath the crook of his arm. "Except a few…details."

"What details?" Harry leaned out further, attempting to see Snape, but it was a bit too dark for that.

"Don't worry about it, Potter. It isn't important."

Harry thought he could hear a reluctance in Snape's voice, although it came out muffled. "Don't be like that," he said, thinking he ought to have as much information as possible. "Tell me."

Snape sighed. "You remember what that muggle said then? About it being the worst child abduction case in decades?"

Harry nodded into the darkness even though he knew Snape couldn't see him. "Sure. Why?"

"Well, ah, that's because they think I've drugged you."

Huh. That seemed almost anticlimactic. And a little absurd. Harry scoffed. "Drugged me?" he said off-hand. "What would be the point of that?"

Snape hesitated for a long moment, almost long enough for Harry to think he was pretending to sleep. "I am sure you know that wizards have ways of stripping people of their free will," he said at last. He must have removed his hand from his face because his voice sounded suddenly clearer. "It should come as no surprise then that similar remedies exist in the muggle world."

Harry was almost sure he was missing a point somewhere, but to him, that did not sound like the worst thing anyone could do to a person. Not in a place where killing curses and torture curses alike were thrown about almost casually.

"Well, we can't exactly march into Parliament and tell them they're wrong, can we," he said. "Do you know anyone else in London who isn't a Death Eater?"

Snape groaned and his voice became muffled once more. "I was thinking maybe St Mungo's," he murmured. "But I won't get there at all unless you leave me in peace for at least six hours."

"To see McGonagall?" Harry pressed. Because that plan had gone really well the last time they tried.

"Under a disguise," replied Snape, seemingly reading his mind. "A hospital is a sanctuary of sorts and I do find she is usually the most level-headed of my colleagues. St Mungo's also has a wide selection of fireplaces."

Harry frowned into the darkness. "I still think we should go to the Burrow," he said, steeling himself for a fight. But somehow, he must have exhausted Snape's quota of arguments that day.

"Potter," he grumbled. " _Hush_. I am asleep."

~o~

Harry dreamt again that night. It was the same weird dream he had in the shed, yet not quite.

He ran beside his younger self, reliving the freedom of a stolen moment, in which he managed to ride Dudley's bicycle for the very first time without falling. He sat on the porch of number four while a different version of him weeded daisies in Aunt Petunia's garden. He watched himself in potions class, adding porcupine quills to a simmering potion with Ron.

Upon walking into the playground near Mrs Figg's house, he saw himself sitting on the swing, awaiting Dudley and Piers, whom he knew would soon show up to taunt him about Cedric's death. At that point, he thought there had to be a purpose for it all.

Instead of watching passively as he had done before, he approached his dream self, not stopping until he was close enough to touch.

Dream-Harry raised his head…and looked at him.

For some reason, ice slid down Harry's spine. "They'll be coming," he told himself breathlessly. "Then…the dementors."

"We know," said Dream-Harry calmly. His voice had an eerie echo and the swing went back and forth.

And that was when it shifted. An emotion perhaps. Or the dream's general atmosphere. Harry found himself suddenly back in the graveyard in Little Hangleton.

Cedric was already dead and Wormtail's hand was gone and the Harry of this dream stood trapped in the grip of a statue depicting death.

"…blood from the enemy, forcefully taken," said Wormtail and Lord Voldemort rose from the cauldron.

Yet, there was not one Voldemort, but two. The real one, from his memory, stood silent but proud, curiously examining his new form.

The other was right beside him.

"Ah," he said softly. "There you are."

The blood in Harry's veins seemed to freeze. Because how could this be? Every other person in his dreams except him had only ever been there once. He knew instinctively that something had gone horribly wrong, but what could have caused this?

In any case, the implications were terrible. Was Voldemort there with them in the waking world? Had he somehow found their location? Had he overpowered them in their sleep? Was Snape already dead?

Harry had not even finished the thought before Snape was suddenly there. He said nothing but the red stain on his shirt seemed to grow impossibly large. Harry did not need to look at his face to see that he was already gone.

This could not be real, could it?

Harry caught a glimpse of incomprehension in Voldemort's eyes, but then it seemed like his distress affected the very dream.

The graveyard dissolved and they were boundless in free space. Dead-Snape and Wormtail and Dream-Harry vanished. Thoughts and memories flew by at light's speed, mixed with images of horror and failure. It was a violent turmoil, something in-between waking memories and imagination – until even Voldemort lost him and was gone.

After that, his dreams drifted back to normalcy.

~o~

Snape still looked exhausted in the morning, albeit seemingly relieved to find that Harry was there and hadn't run away during the night. They left the room and found a bathroom each across the hall to clean up a bit, Harry's head still feeling slightly fuzzy. He thought he must have had a strange dream again, but its content eluded him.

Snape insisted that they be on their way as soon as possible, but already in the lobby, danger reared its ugly head. The bubble-gum girl was off duty.

In her place was a beefy man with tattoos on his arms and a moustache that eclipsed even Uncle Vernon's. At closer inspection, the resemblance to the girl from before was evident: he was probably her father.

But unlike the daughter, this man read his newspapers. There was no mistaking his expression as Snape ushered Harry from the inn, muttering expletives into the back of his head. The whole incident left Snape clearly rattled as everything after that seemed to become urgent and his temper ran shorter than usual.

They only stopped at a grocer's for Snape to buy sandwiches and –for some inexplicable reason– garlic, and at Whitehall for him to sneak up to the telephone box to find that it bore a sign saying 'out of order'.

That didn't exactly ease his stress and it was starting to get to Harry as well. He hurried along after Snape, chewing his breakfast as they went, until he had lost all sense of direction. He was out of breath by the time Snape finally pulled him aside into an alley.

The area had normal muggle buildings made of grey brick, yet the absence of people in the street was noticeable.

"This is it," said Snape. "Expect the worst, Potter. I will attempt to visit an…acquaintance of mine and get hold of some polyjuice."

Harry blinked, taken slightly off guard. Why hadn't he thought of that? He was with a potions teacher after all. "Who are they?" he asked. "Not a supporter of Vol–"

"Hush." Snape urgently placed his hand over Harry's mouth. "Not that name," he hissed, "Not here. If a Death Eater nearby senses it…"

Harry recoiled, making Snape lose his grip. "Senses it?" he whispered. "How is that even possible? You've never said anything before."

"Distance matters in magic, Potter. This is a wizarding area." Harry followed the movement as Snape laid a hand on his lower left arm. He frowned.

"And this acquaintance of yours is…?"

"She does not care about lords," said Snape, bending slightly to go through the pocket of his coat. "Light nor dark."

Then what would she care about? Harry was about to ask, but before he could, Snape thrust a garlic bulb into his hand. "Here," he said. "Have one of these."

Harry made a grimace, startled, but Snape gave him an impatient jerk of his head. "I'm not jesting," he insisted. "Eat it."

Catching an urgency in Snape's voice, Harry obeyed, cracking loose a clove and peeling it. It tasted different from any garlic dish he'd ever had. It was sharp and hot and not pleasant at all.

"Aren't you having any?" He handed the garlic back, but Snape shook his head. "Keep that," he said. "And whatever you do, don't –under any circumstances– let her trick you to come inside the house."

After that ominous warning they entered the closed-off alley, finding a grey brick building at the end with a single entrance and no windows.

A patch of sunlight fell on the wall of it and Snape pushed Harry lightly by the shoulder to stand in its centre. Having slowly understood that they were meeting with a vampire, Harry did not protest.

Snape knocked on the door, which had some kind of spell on it that despite the brightness of the day seemed to cast it in dark shadows. After a moment, a voice could be heard from inside. It spoke in a pronounced Dutch accent.

"Who knocks at this time of day?"

"It's Severus," said Snape. He glanced at Harry. "And my…apprentice."

The door opened a fraction, revealing the outline of a woman. She was so pale she could have been an albino, yet her hair was dark as night. Her face had lots of wrinkles although the rest of her did not look old, and she was shrouded in a long purple cloak.

She took them in, eyes lingering on the stain in Snape's shirt.

"Severus." It seemed to please her. "Won't you come inside?"

Snape ignored the question. "Any news?" he asked evenly, yet Harry noticed the way his shoulders were strung tense.

The vampire straightened and Harry saw that she was long, longer than Snape, and terribly gaunt. "Oh, yes," she said, opening the door a little wider. "You want to make a deal?"

"Perhaps," said Snape. "I am in need of potions."

"Good." The woman smiled. "They're looking for you," she said. "Both your friends and your…not so friends." She took a step further out to peer at Harry. "Although I do lose track of which is which these days."

"That isn't important." It was subtle, but all the while he was talking, Harry noticed that Snape was trying to catch the woman's eyes. "How and where are they looking?"

"Come inside and I'll tell you." Her eyes were lingering on the scarf around Harry's head. "You have company," she said. "Not commonplace for you. And this is…?"

"He is not a part of the bargain," said Snape. "You carry polyjuice today?"

"I do, but the prices have gone up."

"I see." Snape stiffened at that, but he rallied quickly.

"I want the young one." The woman's eyes remained on Harry, whose stomach did a queasy flip. If he had ever wondered, this was what it felt like for prey to come face-to face with their predator. He felt eternally grateful that he had his patch of light. And that Snape was there to handle it.

"No."

"And how will you stop me?" She turned back to Snape. "You're friendless, Severus. As far as I have heard, you're fair game."

"The boy isn't. He belongs to Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore isn't here. Only you. And you seem...unfocused." She moved nearer to Snape, looking him over, seeming to smell the air around him. "Something is missing. What happened to you?"

"Nothing happened. Apart from what you already know. Are we doing business or not?" Snape had caught her eye now and he seemed to raptly focus. His expression reminded Harry acutely of occlumency lessons, yet somehow even more intense.

"Oh I see." The woman did not seem affected at all. She ignored Snape's proposal, instead reaching out to lightly touch his stomach. It might have seemed flirtatious had Harry not noticed the glint in her eye. "A wizard is only ever at his best when using a wand, Severus. Won't you come inside?"

"I need hair as well," said Snape, looking like he needed a holiday. He took a step back and into the light. "It has to be muggle."

To Harry, the exchange felt jarring. Like they were having a different conversation beneath their words, some sort of odd negotiation he couldn't fully comprehend. And they hadn't even started to haggle over prices yet.

How much money did Snape have anyway?

"Is male suitable?" asked the woman in her odd speech. "Or is this some kind of–?"

"You know I don't do that." A muscle tightened in Snape's jaw.

"Yes," she agreed. "But anyone can change their ways. It is why most people come to see me after all…"

"Enough," interrupted Snape. He seemed angry. "This one is underage," he growled with a nod Harry's way. "Just give us someone approximately our sizes, we have to keep the clothes."

"I can do that," the woman said and her smile sent chills down Harry's back. "If you will only come inside."

Snape sighed then, resigned. He turned to Harry.

"Potter," he said, quietly so that the woman would not hear. "I am going with her for a bit." He watched Harry for a long moment. "Stay in the light in the meantime. Don't go anywhere and don't follow me…I won't be long."

He seemed reluctant, nervous almost, and it made Harry uneasy as well. He nodded quickly, fidgeting as he watched Snape trail after the vampire into the house.

Was this really what it looked like? Was Snape trading his own blood for potions? And…wouldn't that make him a vampire as well? Or were the stories actually true and he had been one all along?

At this point, Harry seriously considered bolting. Yet something still held him back. A sliver of doubt, reassuring him that Snape wouldn't do anything that placed him in danger.

Harry didn't see the vampire again, but Snape returned after several tense minutes. He looked the same as before and gave Harry a curt nod, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"Did you?" asked Harry aghast, when they were well on their way and out of earshot from the vampire's dark doorstep. He had already searched Snape's neck for bite marks without finding any. Yet that didn't mean they weren't there.

"You did, didn't you? I don't believe it. There were rumours of course, but…How? When? Does Dumbledore even know?"

"Have you been reading Dracula?" Snape huffed. "I eat regular food, don't I? I walk in the sunlight and if I'm lucky, I might even survive a stake through the heart."

"What?"

"I'm not a vampire. They're just a different species and that is not contagious." Snape shook his head in exasperation. "Don't' you pay attention in your defence classes, Potter? Honestly. I thought it was your best subject."

Harry blinked, feeling surprise and an inexplicable and misplaced pride that Snape would know something like that about him. "It is," he said faintly. "The practicals anyway. Sir, are you all right?"

Snape glanced down at him before looking away. "I am fine, Potter."

There was not much else to do but believe him. They walked in silence for a while, until Harry remembered the reason behind the trade.

"So did you get it?" he asked. "The polyjuice?"

"I did." Snape indicated the coat in his hand and Harry watched it, relieved. At least it hadn't all been in vain.

"I didn't even know you could buy potions like that," he said. "I've only ever seen them at Slug and Jiggers."

Snape tilted his head. "She is not exactly a licenced distributor, no."

"So…what is she then? A street dealer?"

"There's a huge underground market for potions," said Snape. "Usually when you want to pass as someone else, you don't want people to know about it. And most people won't have the time for meticulous brewing in such cases. Just like us."

"You seem to know an awful lot about it."

Snape gave him a sideways glance. "Perhaps," he said. "Black marketing is still illegal, Potter. You shouldn't copy everything I do."

And get bitten by a vampire? Harry shuddered. "Rest assured," he murmured. "I wouldn't dream of it."

They had entered a busy shopping district by then, and in the distance, Harry could see the red-bricked condemned department store he knew to be the entrance to St Mungo's. Snape steered away from the pavement and into an alley to their left.

"I have already added the hair," he said, handing Harry one of the vials from his pocket. "I presume you know how this works?"

Harry nodded mutely, cheeks heating slightly at the implication. But Snape didn't seem concerned about his former wrongdoings right then. He uncorked his vial and Harry copied him.

The smell was horrible, just as bad as it had been when Harry transformed into Gregory Goyle, making him think with longing back to the garlic. He was about to hold his breath and drink the thing, but Snape stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Let me go first," he said. "I cannot be completely sure about the quality."

"I thought you knew this…woman." Harry glanced into his vial sceptically.

"There are many ways to know someone," said Snape before downing his potion with practiced ease. He didn't even flinch. "And it's not necessarily the same as trusting them."

Harry thought about that because the truth of it caught him unawares. He didn't feel like he knew Snape. Not in the way he knew Hermione or Ron. Snape had killed his parents. Or rather, he had contributed to their deaths. Unforgiveable, Harry had thought.

What would Snape have to do to redeem himself? Die in turn? And what would he be willing to do? As things seemed right now, he might be willing to go quite far. It was oddly…gratifying.

And did that also mean that Harry was starting to trust him again, if only just a little? Surely, it had to.

But before he could figure out why that made him both anxious and relieved all at once, Snape transformed.

He slimmed down quite a bit, sprouting ratty, brown hair and a wide collection of pimples on a slightly creepy face. He ended up looking like a nearly adult teenager, complete with an over-prominent Addam's apple and round, bulging eyes.

Other than that, he seemed fine.

"Are you ready?" he asked in a scratchy, dragged-out voice. "We only have one hour."

Harry nodded mutely and tipped the vial to his lips.


End file.
